Assassin's Creed: Shadow Falcon
by Crimson Firebreeze
Summary: Three years ago, she was sent from Masyaf by Al Mualim. Three years ago she had said goodbye to Altair Ibn La-Ahad. Now he has come back into her life and she is torn between what her father wants and the life of an assassin she once had.
1. Prologue

_Here is is! My much anticipated _Assassin's Creed _fic. It took me forever to write! Here is your warning now: There is sexual content. Yes, in this Prologue. I had to and you will see why._

_Enjoy, my dears._

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**Masyaf -1188**

_"Run Sibylla! Ride to Masyaf!" Altair cried, drawing his sword. His back to was to her and several large Templar Knights were closing in on him, a dozen more or so more were running towards them. If she didn't go now, she would be trapped here. This was her only chance. But how could she leave him? _

_"I'm not leaving without you," she yelled back at him, moving to dismount from the horse they had been riding. _

_"No! You go back Masyaf!"_

_Before she could dismount, Altair smacked the stallion's backside, spooking the already agitated beast. The horse barreled through the on coming Templars, knocking them aside, rider and stallion a blur of white. It was long time before Sibylla was able to regain control of the beast and by the time she got the silly thing to stop running, it was too late to go back for Altair. She hesitated a moment before swearing under her breath. His only hope now was for her to plead with Al Mualim to send help to him. She sent a silent prayer to God for him and turned the horse back towards Masyaf. She rode hard, not bothering to stop at the gates of the village. People cursed her as they leapt out of the way. After what seemed like ages, she rode into the courtyard of the fortress and all activity stopped._

_"Sibylla," Malik called. He and Kadar rushed over to her, Malik helping her off the horse. "You are whiter than your robes! What has happened? Where is Altair?"_

_"Templars," she puffed, trying to break free of his hold. The sooner she got to the Master, the sooner Altair could be helped. "They ambushed us. I came for help."_

_"Templars," asked Kadar. "Surely a man as great as Altair can handle a few Templars."_

_Sibylla's eyes pleaded with Malik. How she loved this man. He was a brother to her, a teacher, a friend. If anyone had an intimate knowledge of her, it was Malik. She knew by the dark look that crossed over his chocolate eyes that he understood her haste. She knew that he understood everything. Altair had finally won her heart. It was clear the knowledge hurt him because Kadar had expressed interest in her but Altair had made the move first._

_"Go to the Master," he said softly as he released her. Praying for the wings of the peregrine falcon, she ran with all haste to the tower._

Sibylla paced Al Mualim's study. This had to be the hundredth pass of the large window. She looked out hopefully but was only met by the inky darkness. The torches in the courtyard below illuminated the guards standing near them, but they did not light Altair's path to her. She sighed, hands wringing the thin fabric of her sleeping gown and made another pass, the candles casting her shadow eerily on the stone walls. It was too quiet, her bare feet not making a sound on the cold stone floor. The Master was in bed, along with most of the fortress. Still, despite the late hour, she paced silently before the window, praying.

She cursed under her breath. She felt like she had failed him, her lover. She should have turned the horse around. She should have gone back. She should have defied Al Mualim and gathered help herself. But to what end? If the Templars killed Altair, they would have killed her too. And defying the Master, even if it did prove successful, would result in severe punishment. Couldn't he understand, though?

She cursed again. Al Mualim had scolded her about her feelings for Altair. He had no right. He had given her to him as his apprentice. What had he expected to happen? Why could he not understand? Had the Creed really made him so cold to her, his own flesh and blood? Or perhaps it was because he cared. Perhaps the reason he did not send help to Altair was because he was not the Master's only favorite anymore, and thus could be lost.

A rustling of fabric in the shadows caught her attention. A heavy grunt told her who approached and her heart leapt into her throat. She ran to the other side of the table just as he came around the pillar. He was holding his left arm, dried blood staining his white robes from a wound on his shoulder. He also walked with a defined limp that made her worry. No doubt he was sore, tired and hungry.

Sibylla ran to Altair, colliding with him hard enough to make him stumble. Tears that she had held in all day started to spill from the relief of seeing him alive. He fell back against the pillar, allowing it to support their weight as he regained his balance. His arms instinctively curled around her midsection, his larger frame swallowing her smaller one, almost hiding her. This was the most affection he'd showed her and she reveled in it. Of course he knew she loved him and it was obvious he felt the same, but he had kept himself guarded, not allowing himself to fall prey to love. But she felt it now in the way he held her too tight, his face buried in her hair. His heart was thumping a quick but steady rhythm in his chest which spoke of his relief that she had made it unscathed.

"I thought you had been…" she sobbed, cutting off the end of her sentence.

Altair shushed her and if at all possible, held her tighter. A pleasant tingling crept over her body as she felt his lips kiss the top of her head. She tilted her head back to nuzzle under his chin and his lips found her forehead. His hand came up to her cheek, his thumb stroking her jawline, tilting her head back further until his mouth seized her lips. This kiss was timid at first, then came the dominance she was so familiar with. Something so tender and sweet turned heated and passionate as a groan escaped his throat. She clung to him tightly, refusing to let go, needing to be sure that he was really here, safe and that he really held her in his arms.

Without warning, he spun her around so that she was against the pillar that he had been leaning against. There was a sharp intake of breath from him and before she could really comprehend what was happening, she felt herself slide upwards against the pillar, her legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. He broke away from her lips, his mouth finding her throat as she pushed back his hood and ran her fingers through his dark brown hair. When his teeth sank in to her neck, it took all she had not to cry out from both pain and pleasure. She knew he was marking her and that knowledge caused her heart to flutter. A whimper escaped her lips and was met with a groan of his own and rather enthusiastic thrust of his hips. She about melted, the fire within her raging out of control, burning to be one with him.

Altair let her slide back down, her feet firmly on the ground again and pinned her harder against the pillar as he took her mouth again. She allowed it as he parted her lips and slipped his tongue timidly into her mouth. His hands were all over her, touching her with a surprising gentleness that she would never think him capable of, and yet retaining the dominance and force she was familiar with. It was almost too much for her. Her mind was spinning and she thought she would faint if she let this continue. This was, after all, very new to her, as she was still pure, for though he had expressed a liking of her, he had not touched her in such a way before now. Add the excitement of how completely forbidden this was for them to be engaging in such an act, and she was on a complete overload of emotion.

Sibylla broke away from his mouth, resting her head against his shoulder and panting. The world was spinning and she wasn't entirely sure she was actually standing still, pinned to the pillar. Altair's weight against her was the only thing she was actually sure of. To her relief, his hands stopped their exploration of her feminine form. He kissed her neck softly over where he had bit her, sending shivers down her spine.

"Are you alright, little falcon," he asked against her ear, his cold voice was dripping with affection and seduction, a combination that sent another shiver down her spine.

She nodded against his shoulder, reveling in his smell of him, a masculine musk that was tainted by blood and sweat but suited him well. It was oddly comforting to her as it was a scent that she had associated with safety, for no matter the situation or mission, he had kept her completely safe, even while he threatened to kill her himself several times. On the first day of their mission they had been at each other's throats and yet he had protected her when a Templar had made a rather vulgar comment.

"You're hurt," she exclaimed, now remembering his shoulder.

"Don't worry about it," he purred. "It's nothing serious."

"Let me be the judge of that."

She pushed him off of her and pulled him over to the candelabra for a better look at the wound on his shoulder. He was right, of course. It wasn't nearly as bad as the amount of dried blood would suggest, but it still looked painful and it obviously was by the way he hissed as she examined it. Her eyes travelled up to his and she found him watching her intently. She looked away and back to his wound quickly as a smirk danced on his lips.

His right hand came up and stroked her cheek softly, bringing her blue eyes back to his honey brown ones. His finger traced a line from her jaw, down her neck and to her shoulder and she shivered, wanting so badly just to melt into him. This time, it was her who initiated the kiss. It was timid, shy and reserved. He did not protest, nor make a move to deepen the kiss, probably for fear of pushing her too fast. Instead, he simply slipped his left arm around her waist as the fingers of his right hand threaded through her dark curls. Her arms curled around him and she whimpered his name against his lips. He deepened the kiss then, holding her tighter to himself and guided her backwards, to what she didn't know. Nor did she care, for she trusted him.

Her backside bumped the table causing her to gasp. Altair wasted no time in lifting her and setting her on the table as he kissed her, His rough hands brushed along her thighs pushing her sleeping gown up and it was then that she knew his intentions. She tensed against him, biting his lip and his hands were at her face as he purred to her. She knew he wouldn't force her if she didn't really want it, but the problem was that she did want it, she was just scared.

"Trust me, Little Girl," her whispered against her ear, sending a shiver through her. How she loved it when he used that pet name.

One of his hands was travelling back downwards. She whimpered into his neck as he cooed to her words of love and comfort. She about leapt out of her skin when his hand found that forbidden and untouched part of her. Part of her wanted to protest to his exploration of her and the other part wanted to offer up more of her to his rough hands. The side controlled by her lust was winning out and surrendering to him and his questioning touch. He shuddered against her, a gasp escaping him as she felt a finger slip into her. She whimpered in response and his free hand stroked her hair, his lips finding hers.

"Trust me," he whispered again as his wandering hand pulled away from her all together. Sibylla went rigid with the knowledge of what was to come. Her legs tightened around his hips involuntarily, almost pulling him closer.

"Altair," she whimpered, feeling him against her, ready to claim her and make her his. His own whimper answered her, a sound of need and longing, as he kissed her again. Her legs again pulled him closer. This was as ready as she was ever going to be. He pulled away and watched her, his brown eyes searching her blue ones, for a long moment. Again, he kissed her, this time a gentle brush of his lips against hers, something gentle and sweet.

"Sibylla," he whimpered against her lips, and she understood why as she felt him there, begging for entrance to her. She found his right hand and laced her fingers through his and squeezed. He guided her to lie back before he pushed into her gently, a gasp escaping him as he bent over her to kiss her, or silence the noise that was tearing at her throat. He moved slowly within her, keeping a steady and gentle pace, little moans rumbling in his throat.

It hurt, badly, and it was obvious that he knew it did. His hands stroked her hair and face, his mouth over hers, an odd comfort to her as the pain slowly subsided. Her whimpers turned to moans and Altair pressed his mouth to hers harder, urging her to be silent, his own grunts echoing in the stone tower.

He picked up the pace, thrusting a bit faster. Sibylla arched into him, her hands running through his dark hair. The wood table creaked beneath her as Altair lost himself to his passion, breaking away from their kiss and biting into her neck. It was bliss, and yet it made her sick with the thought of how forbidden it was. But she would do anything to be his and keep him happy. How she loved it when he smiled.

Another creak sounded in the darkness and she assumed it was the table. She was enjoying this, loving his weight over her, his grunts, and him. He kissed her, his lips quivering against hers when a shudder passed through him. She heard the desperate moan that he choked down and she knew by the way his entire body tensed over her that he was spent, taking note of the fact that he had not removed himself from her. Both fear and excitement rose up in her at the thought of what that could mean.

"I love you, my little falcon," he said as he kissed her sweetly.

"And I you," she answered breathlessly. There it was; his declaration of love to her.

Altair was panting as he pulled away from her. Even in the darkness she could see the expression in his dark eyes. The cold calculating glare was completely gone and replaced by a loving caress of a stare that she knew was meant only for her. She couldn't help herself as she sat up and threw her arms around his neck and kissed him hard again, holding him tightly. She felt him surrender to her, but became uneasy when he suddenly tensed and pulled away from the kiss. When she looked at him, his eyes were fixed on something over her shoulder.

"Master," he said in a tone of both fear and respect.

"So you return, unscathed, to deflower my daughter," said Al Mualim.

Sibylla looked over her shoulder. There stood her father, the wise old leader of the Assassin's Guild. She could not read his expression, for he had it trained into a well practiced form that kept her and Altair unsure of his thoughts. She knew he was angry, though. It was obvious. She held on to Altair's arms to keep him from moving away, though he made no attempt to do so. He was clearly speechless, as she was and when neither of them spoke, Al Mualim did.

"I trust you with the care of my daughter," he said with a voice that shook with anger, "Give you an apprentice of your own and this is how you repay me?"

"She is fifteen," Altair snapped suddenly.

"A child!"

"No, a woman! Younger have been made brides and mothers!"

"But not my daughter!"

Altair's entire frame stiffened and he stood up straighter, taking a stance of defiance. She knew he was going to fight her father on this and she found it odd and out of character for him. But then, it was well known that when Altair was passionate about something, he fought tooth and nail no matter the consequences. Malik had told her many stories of growing up with him. She feared the consequences of it for his sake, but found herself almost swooning at the pure romanticism of it.

"She will take the herbs and I will make arrangements for her elsewhere. You are to stay away from her, Altair."

"I will take full responsibility for my actions tonight if she is with child an-"

"No," Al Mualim's tone would not allow argument and Altair's mouth snapped shut with an audible click of his teeth, his jaw firmly set. "She will be given the herbs and she will be taken far from here and far from you."

"Do not speak of me as if I am not present," shouted Sibylla. Altair's honey eyes slid over her, amusement mixing with the anger there. Never in her right mind would she dare to speak to her father so.

"Stay your tongue, girl!"

"I will not, Father!" She slipped off the table and stood defiantly before Al Mualim, her back against Altair's chest. "You'll not command me about like a servant! You'll not tell me who I may and may not love nor when and how!"

"You will not speak to me is such a tone! You are my daughter and you will do as I instruct!"

Sibylla opened her mouth to continue arguing when she felt Altair's rough hand clamp over it. He turned her gently to face him and she looked up at him questioningly. His eyes held a look of defeat that she did not like as his hands came up to hold her face. Her heart sank as she realized what he was about to say to her.

"Sibylla," he said gently, "Do as your father says. Everything will fine, I promise you."

"Altair…"

"Trust me, little falcon. Please? For me."

He kissed her forehead and she thought that he might cry from the way he shook. She bit back her own tears. He couldn't mean this, not after what had just happened. His eyes met hers again before he backed away from her and left the study. She watched him go down the stairs and it wasn't until he stood below where the study looked over the hall did he look at her. She could have sworn she saw tears shimmering on his skin in the candlelight.

"How dare you," she hissed, turning back on Al Mualim and advancing on him. "How could you do this to me!?"

"In the morning you will be sent to Jerusalem and the Rafiq there will train you further," he said in a stern voice. "I will arrange for you to be married to a well-off merchant or, if you are lucky, to one of my men, Malik perhaps, who will teach you how to be a proper woman!"

"You cannot make me!"

Al Mualim struck her for the very first time in her entire life. For an old man, he hit hard. Sibylla felt the bruise forming already and fell silent, glaring at him. It was a battle of wills and one she knew she would lose. It wasn't fair. She did not love Malik as a man that could be her husband. She loved him as a brother and dear friend and was certain he felt the same. But would he turn down the Master? She hoped he would, for she did not want to hate him for aiding her father in this and hate him, she would.

"You will take the herbs and you will go to Jerusalem at dawn. Is that clear?"

"Yes father," she said in defeat.

Dawn came all too quickly for Sibylla. She had packed her few belongings into the saddle bags of the horse she was now sitting upon. She waited for Malik to return from speaking to Al Mualim, his mare was tossing her head impatiently. Kadar was already mounted upon his stallion and was watching her with a look that was bugging her to no end. She knew he loved her and she knew the reason he was staring at her. The entire fortress already knew of the sin that occurred between her and Altair last night.

"You are not supposed to be here," growled Kadar rather suddenly. Sibylla nearly fell from the horse in surprise, especially at the tone in his voice, for she had always known him to be sweet and soft-spoken. She looked over and saw Altair striding purposefully towards her and she understood the edge in Kadar's voice. Altair ignored him and came straight up to the horse.

"They say you are on your way to Jerusalem," he said softly.

"Yes," she replied.

"And that you are getting married?"

"That's what he hopes…"

"Safety and peace, then"

Altair patted her hand and turned away from her, walking back to the fortress. Sibylla bit her lip. If she had to say goodbye to him, it was not going to be like this. It could not be like this. She loved him, for better or worse. She slipped off the horse, ignoring Kadar's protests and ran to Altair, colliding with his back, her arms encircling him from behind.

"I love you," she said through tears. "I don't want to leave or marry someone else. I want to stay here with you! Altair…"

He shifted and turned to face her, his hand cupping her chin and bringing her eyes to his. The sadness she saw there broke her heart. She knew he did not want her to leave either, and that knowledge made it even harder to let go. She held him tighter, her eyes pleading with him.

"Sometimes we must do that which we detest in order to bring about a greater good," he said softly. She didn't want to hear this. Not from him. "The trials we face, the pain we feel, and the things we lose all help to shape who and what we are. They make us stronger and better than what we were before."

"Then what becomes of us," she asked, a sob tearing at her throat.

"The world will decide. The world always decides."

"Altair…"

Sibylla didn't finish her sentence, for he pressed his lips to hers in a passionate kiss. His arms wrapped around her and held her to him tightly. She did not care that the others were around or that they were staring, or even that it was improper for such a display of affection to be made in public. All that mattered was the moment and she wished with all her heart that the moment could last an eternity.

"Altair," Malik's voice cut in, "you should not be here."

Altair pulled away slowly, his eyes finding hers. He said not a word to her and she knew he couldn't even if tried, for her own voice was lost to her as well. But everything he would have said, should have said, was there in those dark eyes of his that dripped with honey. She pressed her forehead to his, taking in his unspoken words. How could she let go when he looked at her like that?

"Altair," said Malik impatiently, warning in his voice.

"Go, little falcon," Altair urged gently.

Sibylla let go of him reluctantly and started towards her waiting horse. She looked back over her shoulder to see Altair watching her and the overwhelming urge to just run back to him broke her. Malik placed a firm hand on her shoulder and continued leading her back to waiting horses. Kadar's hurt glare hardly fazed her as she mounted the horse. He clicked his tongue and the stallion moved away in a trot. Sibylla did nothing except watch Altair as he turned away. She didn't notice when Malik brought his mare up beside her.

"You will meet again, I think," he said in much gentler tone than he had used before. "Allah is not so cruel to give such a gift as love and then take it away."

"And what do you know of love," she growled, turning an icy glare at the man she called brother.

"I know you love him. I know that he must love you as well if he was willing to defy the Master just to see you off. And I know my brother loves you as well."

"And what about you, Malik? Don't think that I am not aware of the true reason my father called you to his tower. Do you love your bride-to-be, though she is no longer the virtuous flower you should have been promised?"

Malik stared at her for a long while as if she had slapped him. Perhaps she had been too bitter towards him, but he was aiding her father after all and she could not and would see Malik as a lover or husband. It was a betrayal in every sense of the word to her. And if Kadar really did love her, then Malik was betraying his own brother as well.

"You are my sister, Sibylla," said Malik. "And I love you as such. No more and no less."

"And what is that supposed to mean," she hissed as he turned his mare and followed after Kadar.

"Altair is not the only one who defied the Master today," he replied cooly over his shoulder.

Sibylla gave her mount a light kick to the sides and urged it to come up alongside Malik. He had a childish smirk on his face and did not acknowledge her. She stared at him, waiting. He simply ignored her, that damned smirk plastered in place. Malik could not have been referring to himself, could he? He never disobeyed Al Mualim, nor questioned him.

"What did you do," she demanded.

"I politely declined his request to take you as my bride and thanked him for deeming me worthy of his most precious treasure."

His tone was far too cocky for her liking. Malik wasn't arrogant and the tone in his voice made her squirm.

"And?"

"And I could not betray my brother nor my sister. That is all"

"Surely you know who my intended is to be then? Malik! Do not keep secrets from me!"

Malik smiled, and his grin was all too teasing and arrogant. She feared for a moment that he would not tell her when he looked ahead to Kadar, riding alone. Her eyes followed his and she thought she knew what he would say.

"You are looking at him, my dear."

Sibylla looked back to Malik with wide eyes. He gave her a smug look before forcing his horse into a gallop and riding ahead. She watched him with an expression that was a mix of both hate and amusement. It was obvious he had asked for her hand on Kadar's behalf and she should have known he would do it. But then, what about what he had said about Altair? She could not argue with being paired off with Kadar, for at least she had the security of knowing the man loved her but…

She shook her head. If Malik was right, then she would be reunited with her Flying Eagle again. All she had to do was be patient and wait for that day. She did not doubt that it would be a very long time before that day came, for there was a very good reason Al Mualim had chosen to send her to Jerusalem, as far away from Masyaf as he could safely have her. Altair would not be given missions that would require his presence there unless absolutely necessary.

Sibylla pushed down the sadness she felt and urged her horse into a canter to catch up with Malik and Kadar. As they rode out of Masyaf, she did not look back. She couldn't. Though she loved Altair, she had to let that chapter of her life come to an end now and focus on the path set before her. Still, she sent a silent prayer up to the heavens for him as the gates of Masyaf shrank into the distance behind her.

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**_NOTES:_**__

This takes place three years before Assassin's Creed and two years before Assassin's Creed: Altair's Chronicles thus making him only 22. Three years younger and three years more naive. Malik is probably about the same age as Altair and Kadar, I assume would probably be a fair bit younger than his two mentors. I am going to say he is probably around 17 years old, as I doubt he is older than 20 or 21 in the game.

Sibylla is 15 at this point and considered a woman. It was rather common back then for women to be married off as soon as they started menstruating to men much older than they were.  


_The lines "What becomes of us?" and "The world will decide. The world always decides" was originally taken from Kingdom of Heaven. Sibylla of Jerusalem and Balian of Ibelin exchange these words after she has slept with him, thus being unfaithful to her husband, Guy de Lusignan._

In reality, Jerusalem had just fallen to Saladin the previous fall (October of 1187) and thus, was probably not the best place for Al Mualim to send Sibylla. Though at the time, Saladin was besieging Krak des Chevaliers, the fortress of the Knight's Hospitaller (similar to the Knight's Templar).

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**_Author's Comments:_**__

Finally! I got it finished and up. This thing ended up being TEN FUCKING PAGES!

Can you tell I did a lot of research!?

Dear god, this has been a royal pain in my ass, doing all the math for people's ages and the endless researching on stupid tiny details. But it's all worth it. Oh dear lord is it worth it!

And the smut! That is what took me so long. Altair having sex breaks my poor little brain. I hope you all got what you were expecting! I did the best I could!


	2. Savior in the Night

_I hate it but I refuse to mess with it anymore. I've been working on it for a week with two other chapters brewing. Future chapters with Desmond will be better, I promise... _

_And I know... Random change of time, but trust me, it works. I have to do this all proper like._

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**Abstergo Industries Compound – 2012**

The click of boots on the tiled floor had initially woke him, but the hand that covered his mouth quite suddenly is what made his eyes fly open. He didn't bother to look before he acted. He grabbed the arm and twisted to the right, throwing the person off balance, and pulling them against his chest. He quickly rolled, pinning whoever it was beneath him before forcing the arm behind their back. There was a decidedly feminine yelp as he did this and when he looked again, he was shocked to see that it was, in fact, a woman that he was pinning to the bed.

"Who are you," he growled. He was quite honestly getting tired of sudden attacks and inexplicable happenings.

"I'm here to help," the woman squeaked, muffled by the bed.

"Tell me your name."

"Trust me, Desmond. I mean no harm!"

"No harm," he scoffed. "Then why were you sneaking around my room? How do you know my name? And who the hell are you!?"

"A'shaia wak akla mukla bel kullukum mumkin," she said in flawless Arabic.

"What," he gasped as his eyes fell to her right wrist, which he held. There, tattooed in black ink was the symbol of the Assassin's guild.

Desmond let her go and took several steps back from her. The girl did not look like she was of Middle Eastern descent, with her pale skin, blue eyes and blonde hair. It chilled him to the bone to hear the same words he had witnessed his ancestor speak. And even more disturbing was that she was branded as an assassin. Who was she, anyways?

"My name is Shayna Adair," she said standing and rubbing her wrist. "I was sent to help you."

He raised an eyebrow as he gave her the once over. She didn't look like someone who could help him. She stood at around five feet, five inches tall and was slim, but not lacking where curves were concerned. She was of a much smaller frame than he was and he was honestly surprised that he hadn't hurt her when he pinned her. She wore loose black cargo pants and a black tank top with a pair of worn looking black boots. A three fingered glove covered part of her right hand while silver dogtags and a cross necklace adorned her neck. A long black trench coat lay discarded over the chair next to the bed. The only weapons she appeared to have was a belt of throwing knives fastened to her thigh.

"How did you get in here," he asked.

"Same way you did," she replied. "Through the door."

"But the doors are locked with a sec-"

"-a security code that they never change?"

Desmond stared at Shayna for a long moment. She was clearly familiar with Abstergo and its inner workings and that made him very uneasy. He began to doubt his ability to trust this supposed assassin.

"Who are you?"

"I told you," she sighed, crossing her arms over a rather well-endowed chest.

"No… you didn't."

"What do you want to know then?"

"That phrase you used, the Arabic one, where did you hear that?"

Shayna stared at him, icy eyes not wavering from his brown ones, as if she was debating on what to tell him. He glared at her, willing her to answer him. And it seemed she broke finally because she sighed again, her eyes falling to the floor.

"A great assassin named Altair Ibn La-Ahad once said it as he lay his teacher in his grave," she said softly.

"How do you know of him?!"

"Aside from the fact that he is your ancestor? Yes, I know about that. Abstergo doesn't hide their records very well. Anyone with the right passwords can access the Animus records. But aside from that, I know because I have seen him just as you have. Al Mualim was my ancestor."

"Seriously, who the fuck are you," he growled, impatient with the way she was avoiding his question. The girl was a blatant tease and far more arrogant than he'd like to deal with.

"Fine," she began. "The Brotherhood refers to me only as 'Shaqr'. Abstergo has me on file as Subject Seven."

"Subject Seven? If you are Al Mualim's descendant, then why did they need me? Couldn't they have used you to acquire their treasure?!"

"Keep your voice down," she hissed. "And they tried. His memories remained inaccessible. The closest they could get was his daughter and even then they were unable to access the memories."

"His… daughter? I didn't know he had a daughter."

"Yes, he did. And she was, in fact, very close with your ancestor. Close enough that you and I are technically related by marriage."

"His wife?"

"Close," she said, pacing. "Altair and my ancestor, Sibylla, were master and student. From the shreds of memories I could see, they were obviously lovers as well. What I do know for sure, is that they both had children separate from each other. How this happened, I do not know, because according to all the records I have found, Sibylla was Altair's wife up until their deaths. The two were virtually inseparable from 1191 onward."

Desmond stared at the woman. Nowhere in his ancestor's memories did he ever see this 'student', Sibylla. He resorted to the Eagle Vision that he suddenly found himself capable of and was honestly surprised to see that Shayna really was an ally.

"How come I didn't see her in the Animus," he asked. "If they were inseparable, why was she not there in the memories I have."

"Simple," she replied. "Two reasons: first, have you ever noticed that the Animus will fast-forward? It skips parts of your ancestor's personal life deemed irrelevant to what Abstergo wants. Thus activities such as taking a woman to bed or courting her would be cut out."

"But if she had been his apprentice, then I think she would be there."

"The Animus did not show him taking a piss, did it? And yet you know he did."

They stared at each other for a long moment, almost challenging one another. Normally, he was laid back and uncaring. But this girl annoyed him to no end for some reason.

"Second," she continued. "You could be like me and those memories may require a key to unlock them."

"A key?"

"Yes, like a trigger or something."

"I don't follow."

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, "Perfect, one-hundred percent synchronization unachievable by yourself since they are _shared_ memories and thus requires the other half of them in order to access them."

"So, you're telling me, I'd need your memories in order to view the memories involving your ancestor."

"Pretty much."

"But why," he asked, scratching his head. "I can see memories involving other people just fine."

"Because that is the way it works sometimes. Altair and Sibylla, as I said, were nearly inseparable. I'm talking about one of the most pathetically romantic and devoted couples EVER. Their memories are too tightly wound with one another."

"So how would they access those memories? Obviously they need us both in the Animus at the same time. And that thing isn't big enough for two."

"A second Animus machine and then rigging us together."

Desmond couldn't help but give her look. The way she said it was as if she had shrugged, so non-chalant like it wasn't a big deal. But it was a very big deal. If her ancestor was Al Mualim, then she carried knowledge about the Piece of Eden that Abstergo desperately needed. She shouldn't even be here.

"How did you get out," he asked, suspicious of her again.

"Excuse me?"

"How did you get out of here? It seems unlikely that they just released you."

"I escaped."

"How?"

"Security back then when more… relaxed."

"So you're the reason for all this."

"Sadly, yes," she looked at the clock then back at him. "Speaking of, we have wasted too much time. We should be going now."

Shayna grabbed her coat and shrugged it on. It was long on her, the hem only a few inches from the ground. She looked at him with what he thought was an expectant look before moving out the door and into the lab. She stopped and waited halfway to the exit, when he didn't follow her, with a sigh. It was clear from the way she stood that she was annoyed with him. He didn't need to be a psychic to know that. He shook his head and followed her, taking one last look at the Animus, which he hoped he would never see again as she led him towards the door. He watched her punch in the security code, his heart rising in his throat as he thought of being free.

The doors took far too long to slide open for his tastes but when they did, he knew it had to be too good to be true. Shayna went through first and his fear was confirmed. Arms reached out and grabbed her, twisting her own arms painfully behind her back till she went down on her knees, a gun held against her head.

"What are you doing," cried Desmond, rushing forward.

"Did you really think it would be that easy," said that voice Desmond had come to hate, halting him. Dr Warren Vidic stepped from the shadows on the other side of the door. "Well if it isn't Subject Seven! Just the assassin we were looking for! Did you miss us?"

"Go to hell," Shayna spat.

"Mr. Miles, I'd not move if I were you," said Vidic, as Desmond was calculating a way to get his would be savior away from the security guards. Vidic then turned back to Shayna. "You are going to give us what we want this time."

"I won't help you templar bastards, just as my ancestor wouldn't," she growled. Desmond had to admit, the girl was brave to be staring down the barrel of a loaded AK-47 and still be defiant.

"Oh I think you will," Vidic cackled. "I have no doubt of it. And Desmond here is going to be the key that unlocks those sticky little memories of yours."

"Not if I escape again! I did it once, I'll do it again!"

"I think not. Welcome back to Abstergo, Miss Adair. Knock her out."

Desmond had no choice but to watch as Shayna was struck with the butt of the gun and knocked unconscious. The guards then took her to the room Desmond had called his own for the last several months. He stared at Vidic in disbelief.

"You can't do this," he exclaimed.

"I can and will," replied Vidic, dialing a number on his phone before speaking into it. "Mrs. Mercer? Be a dear and change the security codes through the entire building. Yes, we got her. Good work, as always."

Vidic then turned back to Desmond as the guards returned, flanking him, carrying Shayna's knives

"Now, Mr. Miles, I suggest you return to you room and tend to your new guest."

Desmond glared at the man before him, fists clenching. He decided not to risk armed guards and returned to his room, the door sliding shut and locking behind him. They had laid Shayna on the bed, her black clothing standing out in shocking contrast to the white sheets. It was now that Desmond noticed that everything here was white and it annoyed him quite suddenly. He shrugged it off and went into the bathroom for a wet rag. When he returned, he could clearly see the bump on the girl's head where they had struck her. He sat on the edge of the bed and laid the rag over the bump with a sigh.

"Thanks for trying," he mumbled.

Shayna was beautiful, he admitted. And he could not understand how girl as pretty as her had come from the same place he had. He watched her for a long time before being startled half to death by a very odd occurrence. For a split second, he saw a different setting, different place, same girl. He blinked several times and it happened again. It took him only a few moments to realize that he was seeing through his ancestor's eyes at what was probably a vision of Shayna's ancestor. He shivered. If she was right, the next several days in the Animus were going to be very weird.

* * *

**NOTES:**

"_A'shaia wak akla mukla bel kullukum mumkin_" is the exact line from the game that Altair spoke to Al Mualim as he lay dying in his arms. It translates into "nothing is real forever but everything is possible" NOT "Nothing is true, everything is permitted"

Desmond is Subject 17.

Mercer is a direct reference to _Prototype_. (See below)

AK-47 rifles because if you remember correctly, there is a shoot out in the game at the compound. I think the guards would be armed at all times.

**Author's Comments:**

It's shit, I know. I didn't want to write it, I wasn't feeling it. Abstergo scenes are far too stiff. Take your pick.

I promise, it will get better. This chapter was an after thought.

OH! Cameo! Mrs. Mercer? Yeah, that would be Kitty Mercer, computer genius extraordinare! I thought I would give my friend's character a cameo, since she was the reason this damn fic got started.

All you need to know about Mrs. Kitty Mercer is that she is a character in my friend's story as a descendant of Malik, a computer genius and she is married to Alex Mercer of _Prototype_.

No, this is not turning into a crossover. Her's is the crossover, I simply gave her character a cameo.

There will be more cameos of her characters... expect them.


	3. Ghost of a Rose

_Super special early update on the same day as the last update. This will probably never happen again... XD_

_Enjoy._

* * *

**Masyaf- 1191**

Sweaty, tired, and troubled upon returning from Acre, Altair Ibn La-Ahad climbed the stone stairs that lead to Al Mualim's study. As he had countless times before, he pushed the memory of that night three years ago from his mind, though it proved more difficult this time. He'd be going to Jerusalem next and would face not only Malik, but the girl he lost. That is, if Malik hadn't made other arrangements for her. Still, there were more pressing matters to attend to than his own, personal turmoil.

As he rounded the pillar, Al Mualim was discussing something with one of the record keepers. He knew better than to eavesdrop here and closed his ears to the conversation as he waited respectfully off to the side. He took note of a white rose in a small clay vase sitting on the window sill and pondered over it. The Master rarely kept such trifle things inside, so why was it there?As if to answer his question, her voice floated to him through the years.

* * *

_Sibylla had led him out to the garden, past where the Sacred Blossoms lounged near the cool fountains, down to the lowest tier that overlooked the river. It was where he had often come to watch the sun set and wind down after a long day of training or a hard ride back after an assassination. It was peaceful and private where one could be alone._

_She had to have been ten at the time, for he had been about seventeen. She led him over to a rose bush, brimming with the summer blossoms of the Damask Rose. She had smiled up at him as she picked the only pure white rose and held it to her nose, inhaling deeply in a rather exaggerated manner. He could smell the strong scent of the rose before she ever offered it to him. He thought her silly for the gesture, but accepted all the same. The last thing he wanted to do was make the girl cry, so he stood there awkwardly holding the white flower as she hunted for another one. She found what she was looking for, a blood red blossom which he knew to be rare for the plant. She picked it and held it to her protectively._

_"Promise me, Altair," she said in that childish squeak. "That whenever you see a white rose, you will think of me."_

_It took all he had not to roll his eyes at the girl. He could not understand why he had to babysit her instead of Malik. He knew he should be honored to be trusted with the Master's daughter, but he'd rather be in the sparring ring than being shadowed by this child. Like a falcon chasing the mighty eagle, as Malik had described it after watching him with her one day. But as he looked at her now, he no longer saw the sweet innocence that he had been accustomed to. Instead, she looked up at him with the intensity of a full grown woman, her blue eyes boring through him. If he hadn't known any better, he could have sworn that she was not seven years younger than him, but the same age or older. He was startled to see this and instantly felt bad for the man unfortunate enough to marry her. This girl would be able to ensnare any man she wanted with just a flutter of her ebony eyelashes. He knew this, for with a single look, she had already brought him, a trained assassin, to his knees and he neither understood how nor why._

_"I promise," he said, suddenly paranoid of what she would do to him should he decline._

_"Good," she said in a tone that he swore was of an older and wiser woman speaking to him. "And whenever I see a red rose, I will think of you."_

_She was quiet for a long time after that, staring off at the setting sun. Altair shivered. He was no longer sure if he was seeing the girl or a premonition of what she would become later. It chilled him to the bone and goose bumps rose up on his skin despite the hot weather. And then she was staring at him again, her blue eyes like deep pools of water that he would someday thirst for._

_"When I marry you, Altair, we will have white and red roses only. Not pink, or sort of red, or even off white. Just white and red."_

_"But white and red are rare for these roses," he said, humoring her childish fantasy._

_"I don't care," she replied very seriously. "We'll find a way."_

* * *

Altair shivered and he didn't know if it was from the memory or from the sweat trickling down his spine. The irony of the whole situation was, when she started her assassin training, they became bitter rivals. And after she became his apprentice, he occasionally saw that same look in her eyes when she would stare at him, and he knew now that he had glimpsed a premonition of her future self in the garden eight years ago. He could only wonder about her now.

"Have you news for me, Altair," the master said suddenly, cutting into his thoughts.

"Garnier de Naplouse is dead," he replied immediately, stepping forward.

"Excellent," said Al Mualim, pacing in front of the wooden table. "We could not have hoped for a more agreeable outcome."

"And yet…"

Al Mualim stopped his pacing and turned to look at Altair, a concerned expression adorning his wrinkled face. Altair couldn't blame him, not after the mistakes he had made.

"What is it," he asked.

"The Doctor insisted his work was noble," Altair continued and Al Mualim resumed pacing slowly. "Looking back, those who were supposedly his captives seemed grateful to the man. Not all of them, but enough to make me wonder. How did he manage to turn enemy into friend?"

"Leaders will always find ways to make others obey them. And that is what makes them leaders. When words fail they turn to coin. When that won't do, they turn to baser things: bribes, threats, and others types of trickery." Al Mualim stopped is pacing again and turned his eyes, one icy with blindness, on him. "There are plants, Altair, herbs from distant lands, that can cause a man to take leave of his senses. So great are the pleasures it brings, men may even become enslaved by it."

"You think these men were drugged, then? Poisoned?" The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"Yes, if it truly was as you describe it."

"Herbs. This seems a strange method of control," he said pensively and he could not help but recall that night again. The Master had insisted his daughter take herbs. He knew it was for contraceptive purposes but what if he had given her something to make her complacent enough to leave Masyaf? No, the Master would not do that.

"Our enemies have accused me of the same," Al Mualim replied.

"The promise of Paradise," he shivered inwardly, his blood turning to ice for a moment.

"They think there's a garden, overflowing with women and pleasure. That I drug you as Garnier did with his men and tempt you with its rewards."

"They do not know the truth of it."

"Which is how it must be."

"But if they knew the truth of it," Altair said defensively. "That all we seek is peace-"

"Then they would not fear us, and we would have no hold over them." Al Mualim rounded the table and stood facing the window, a dismissal. "Go, it is time you continued with your work. Another rank is restored to you, as is a piece of your equipment. We'll speak again when the next has fallen."

Altair moved forward and took his throwing knives from the table and placed them accordingly. As he made sure everything was properly in place, he noticed that the Master's fingers touched the white rose and he instantly felt guilty. It was clear to him, that even though the Master never spoke of her, he missed her greatly, and it was all his fault. Had he controlled his urges, Sibylla would still be here and perhaps, things would be very different. He honestly missed the rivalry they had; he still would not admit that he missed her. He had closed his heart after her and reinforced that barrier when Adha was taken.

He turned and left the study, leaving Al Mualim to his thoughts, his own enveloping him again. He would ride for Jerusalem now and he wasn't sure what was causing his stomach to churn more. The thought of seeing Malik again after what happened in Solomon's Temple or the possibly seeing Sibylla again, whether in the bureau or on the streets. He took a deep breath as he mounted his steed at the city gates to steady his nerves and urged the horse into a canter. He knew Malik would not be happy to see him and no doubt they would argue, but what of Sibylla? Would she welcome the sight of him, or would she scorn him for his part in Kadar's death and the loss of Malik's arm? Why did he care? The past was the past and it would stay that way. He could not afford to anger Al Mualim any more than he already had. But… what if? He shook his head. The ride to Jerusalem was a long one, and he would need to use the time wisely to rid himself of these silly thoughts, lest he make another mistake that might end his life.

* * *

**NOTES:**

The only roses native to Syria and the rest of the Middle East before the 13th century was the Damask rose. It's colors usually range from a pinkish white to dark pink. Pure white and red are rare for the plant but it does happen. Damask roses are commonly used for perfume, rose oil, rose water and culinary purposes. They are also known as Damascus Roses.

The line _"Promise me when you see a white rose you will think of me"_ is taken from the Blackmore's Night song "Ghost of A Rose". The song also provided the inspiration for the scene involving the roses.

The dialog between Altair and Al Mualim came directly from the game. If you dont know where in the game because it;s been forever, this is immediately after the FIRST Acre mission... as if it isn't obvious.

The Sacred Blossoms are Al Mualim's concubines. You know, the prissy women in the garden who ignore Altair, unlike the poor women with five dying children and a sick husband.

**Author's Comments**

OH MY GOD! TWO chapters in one day!? I must love you guys or something!

Naw, I was just dead set on getting this one done too. That and I had nothing better to do while waiting for my laundry. I promised something better, and here it is, on the same day! A week in advance. If you are lucky I may get the next chapter up by tomorrow!

Oh, and do you see the stuff I have to research for this story!? FLOWERS?!

Yes! I had to! Along with contraceptives, undergarments, and a slew of other random crap that I must save for the notes in other chapters.

I hope I did Altair justice. It's fun writing as him. Not half as fun as Malik, but still...


	4. Crashing into Fate

_Alright, here it is! Took longer than I thought and I think it;s a bit rushed towards the end... but I like it anyways. Enjoy!_

* * *

Jerusalem- 1191

The death of a friend was no excuse to let oneself waste away. If she had learned anything in all her days living amongst assassins, it was to take emotion and push it from her mind and focus on making herself better, more agile, more efficient, and thus, she had taken up Malik's neglected sword. She made the space of the Bureau's inner room as her training area instead of the outer courtyard, lest she get underfoot when an informant came in, and so that Malik could keep an eye on her. She moved with grace and speed in her deadly dance with the sword and well practiced control in the small space. She wasn't supposed to be touching weapons; her father would beat her if he knew what she was doing, but she did not care anymore about what her father could do to her. He was in Masyaf , far away from Jerusalem and her.

"Leg straighter," came Malik's voice. She didn't have to look over at him to know that his eyes were fixed on the map before him and not on her.

"Am I so predictable," she hissed.

"You make the same mistakes you did when I trained you at Masyaf. You have become lazy with the sword."

"Well, we all know who to thank for that, don't we."

Malik shot her warning glare. It had been three years since she had ridden out of Masyaf and away from everything she knew and loved; three long years since she was stripped of her rank and title in the Assassin's Guild and her weapons were confiscated. She glanced at her scarred left hand where the hidden blade she once owned had nearly claimed two of her fingers. The wounds had healed nicely, leaving only a pearly scar behind.

"You should not have acted as you did," Malik scolded. "Then perhaps you would be a Master Assassin and favored in Al Mualim's eyes as Altair is… was."

"It took both of us to perform that little act, Malik. Yet it was only I who was punished." She cared not if her tone was unreasonably bitter. Altair Ibn La-Ahad had cost her far too much, and much of it without even being in her life.

"Altair was punished, though in a different way. He was forced to give up something he wanted. He had to watch that which he treasured be given to another man and was forced to acknowledge that every day. He did pay, Sibylla, make no mistake."

Sibylla's blue eyes slid to where, just a little over a month ago, Malik's left arm had also carried a hidden blade. The lack of said arm was still odd to her and looked foreign on him, a man she had known since birth. For a moment, she remembered how he looked before he and Kadar had departed for Solomon's Temple. Aside from Altair and a select few, Malik was the only other assassin to be of the highest rank and carry a hidden blade. And Kadar…

If there was anything that struck her as any more foreign than Altair's missing finger had been or Malik's absent arm was now, it was emptiness left in the wake of Kadar's death. He had always been there through out her life, just as Malik had. It had less to do with the fact that she was engaged to him more to do with the reality of how close they had been. Kadar had only been three years her senior and he had loved her unconditionally. After arriving in Jerusalem, he had been her constant companion and she had learned to love him as more than just the brother figure she saw him and Malik as.

"Are you defending Altair," she asked with a raised eyebrow, lowering his sword, which she had borrowed.

"No, I am not," he growled, looking back down at his map and making a mark with the quill. "I am merely pointing out that you are not a victim."

Sibylla glared at him, and he continued making lines on the parchment and ignoring her. She sheathed his sword and approached the counter, leaning against it and watching him, her forehead touching his. He sighed irritably and glared at her. She smiled at him sweetly and he simply rolled his eyes and fixed them on his map again.

"You are in my light," he growled.

Sibylla did not move and instead nuzzled him in that way that bothered him to no end when he was working, just to push his buttons. She wanted something from him and she expected to get it this time. There was another irritated sigh from him and he put the quill down and gave her his full attention, a stern glare fixed on her.

"Please," she asked sweetly.

"The answer is still no," he replied.

"Oh come on Malik! What harm could it possibly do?"

"Plenty, actually. If Al Mualim found out that I let yo-"

"Because letting me practice with your sword isn't against the rules either."

The way Malik's eyes were looking her up and down made her uneasy. He was gnawing on the inside of his lip, she knew, and thinking of a come back. She did not know what he could possibly argue back to her statement, but she knew he would. Especially when a smirk began to dance on his lips.

"You're a woman now," he said in an arrogant tone.

"I've been one for awhile," she snapped. "What's your point?"

His dark brown eyes slid down to the round curve of her chest and stayed there for a fair bit longer than she was comfortable with. Her arms came up as if to shield herself from his eyes and she realized what his point was. Her chest had developed quite a bit since she left Masyaf.

"A rather well endowed woman," he remarked smugly, his eyes darting back to lock with hers. "I doubt your robes will still fit you."

"That is why there is this lovely thing called 'binding', Malik," she sneered.

"Go then, she-devil. Prove me wrong as I know you are dying to do."

Sibylla stuck her tongue out at him and ran off to her room. She pulled a wooden box from under her cot and opened it, the faded smell of roses floating to her from inside. She carefully dug to the bottom of the box until she pulled out her white assassin's robes. It had been a long time since she even looked at them. Inside were also her dagger and throwing knives, the only weapons Malik had convinced Al Mualim to let her keep. She laid the robes on her cot and then dug for the cloth strips she had used to bind her chest.

It took longer than she would have liked to strip, bind, and dress in the white robes. She had forgotten how complicated it all was, but her hands still remembered what to do. Once she was done, she ran her hands over the soft fabric, smoothing it out, double checking the red sash around her waist. It all fit like a glove, though the binding on her chest was a bit more uncomfortable than it had been three years ago. She tugged on her boots and gloves and fastened her dagger in place before moving towards the main room, pinning her hair up. An oddly familiar voice stopped her in her tracks. She pressed herself to the wall and listened.

"Safety and peace, Malik," said the voice.

"You're presence here deprives me of both," said Malik, clearly agitated. "What do you want?"

"Al Mualim has asked-"

"Asked that you perform some menial task in an effort to redeem yourself," he cut off the other man. "So be out with it."

"Tell what you can about the one they call Talal."

"It is your duty to locate and assassinate the man, Altair. Not mine."

Altair?! Sibylla's mind was racing. Well, it certainly explained Malik's irritation but what the hell was Altair doing here? Surely her father would not forget what happened three years ago and allow him here? But he had, not once but twice already, didn't he? Perhaps her father had forgotten about her after all.

"You do well to assist me," said Altair with a warning in his voice. "His death benefits the entire land."

"Do you deny his death benefits you as well," Malik shot back.

"Such things do not concern you."

"Your actions very much concern me," Malik yelled so suddenly that Sibylla jumped.

"Then do not help me. I'll find him myself!"

Sibylla scoffed. Altair sounded like a spoiled child who wasn't getting his way. Of course, Malik was also acting like one, but at least had a reason to. Altair had cost the man just about everything he loved in life. She thought them both silly. They had to work together, no matter how much they hated each other and it would make life easier if they would just be civil for five minutes. Of course, Altair had been rather civil, hadn't he? It was Malik who snapped at him first. Malik's heavy sigh cut into her thoughts.

"Wait wait," he said. "It won't do having you stumble about the city like a blind man. Better you know where to begin your search."

"I'm listening," replied Altair coldly

"I can think of three places: South of here in the markets that line the border between the Muslim and Jewish Districts; to the North near the mosque of this district; and East, in front of St. Anne's Church, close to the Bab Ariha gate."

"Is that everything?"

"It's enough to get you started," growled Malik. "And more than you deserve."

The two men glared at each other for a long moment before Altair turned and strode out of the room. Sibylla crept back in. Malik was already glaring daggers at her and she shuffled awkwardly. How did he know?

"You should really learn not to eavesdrop," he hissed at her.

"But Master," she said in a tone that dripped with honey and was colored with sarcasm. "Is not eavesdropping one of the first skills we master during training?"

Malik's face turned red and she knew she had gotten on his last nerve. His patience was much thinner than normal due to Altair's little visit and this was a very bad time to be pushing his buttons. She stood her ground as black eyes glared fiercely at her and she even smiled up at him triumphantly.

"Learn your place, you insolent girl," he yelled. "You are NOT an assassin."

Still, Sibylla stood her ground despite his rage and the blow to her ego. She had learned a long time ago not to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing she was hurt. It was a lesson she had learned from Altair and she had learned it the hard way. Of course Malik knew when he had gone too far, because what brother wouldn't recognize the hurt in her eyes, despite her best effort to mask it. He looked away from her and sighed, scribbling something out on a piece of parchment.

"I'm sorry. Go," he waved his hand at the door. "Follow him."

"But it's Altair," she said with a cold tone that brought Malik's eyes to her.

"And I am not your father."

"Malik… he…"

"Go, before I change my mind."

He held out the parchment to her and she couldn't help but stare at him, completely shocked that he was allowing her to follow Altair. She took it from him and glanced at it quickly before Malik spoke.

"Give that to the ass," he said, "if he gives you any trouble."

Sibylla stared at Malik for a few more moments before kissing his cheek and moving into the courtyard, stuffing the parchment into a pouch at her waist. She sprinted and scaled the wall, pulling herself up onto the roof with a huff. She stood and dusted herself off, eyes scanning the rooftops for Altair.

"Your hood," Malik called from within.

She rolled her eyes and pulled the white hood on. She spotted Altair moments later and gave chase. He was fast but once upon a time, she was just as fast. As she tailed him, a knot in her stomach formed, twisting and churning uncomfortably. It had been three years since she had spoken to him. She hated the man, didn't she? She thought about everything that had occurred between them when they were younger and then about his part in the disaster at Solomon's Temple, Kadar's death and the siege on Masyaf. She became so absorbed in her thoughts that she was more than shocked when she slammed headlong into Altair's sturdy frame. She fell back, landing hard on her rear while Altair struggled to regain his balance. He whirled on her, pinning her where she lay, his dagger at her throat. He let her up after a few moments, her own assassin's garb indicating to him that she was not a foe.

"Who are you," he demanded. "What do you want?"

Sibylla simply dug in her pouch for the parchment Malik had given her and handed it to him. He snatched it from her and read over it, giving a rather exasperated sigh and crumpling it into a ball when he was done. He glared at her fiercely and she was suddenly very curious about what Malik had written as Altair began to circle her.

"You look like an able enough lad," he growled. "I don't wish to be hindered so stay out of my way and you can come along. Get in my way, and you will breathe your last. Clear?"

Sibylla simply nodded, not daring to speak as Altair obviously thought her a boy and clearly Malik did not reveal her identity in the note. Altair gave her one last fierce glare before he continued in the direction he had been moving before she had so foolishly collided into him. She shivered a moment, as she always had after he had turned a weapon on her in the past or threatened her, cursing under her breath as she followed him. They were headed towards St Anne's Church, she noted and they were moving in silence.

She took this time to ponder over him as she trailed a respectable distance behind him. Three years had changed him. At twenty-two years of age, when she had first served as his apprentice, he had been much kinder, softer and more patient. Now at twenty-five, he was arrogant, clearly bitter and rougher around the edges. He had hardened over the years and she had to wonder what had transpired in his life to make him this way. Surely this wasn't all because of her?

Altair stopped at the edge of a roof that overlooked the area in front of the church. She came to a stop beside him, carefully keeping her face hidden from his. She had gotten lucky that he did not recognize her when he had pinned her. She waited silently for instruction from him, already having a guess at what he would say.

"Stay here," he mumbled. "Keep a sharp eye and ear."

Altair moved swiftly away from her, his eyes trained on something below. She sighed, crouching and watched him for a moment before fixing her eyes on the busy street below, looking and listening. It sent a shiver down her spine how well she slipped back into the groove of being his apprentice, even if this was meant for only a day.

A large arm wrapped around her from behind and she felt the cold metal blade of a sword against her throat. She mentally kicked herself. How did she not hear the guard come upon her? He forced her to her feet with a grunt. She struggled as much as she dared to though was quickly subdued when the blade was pressed to her throat harder.

"Assassin," yelled the guard. Sibylla watched as Altair turned quickly around. She could see from his stance that he was furious. The guard continued, "Run and your apprentice dies. Cooperate and both your lives may be spared."

Sibylla prayed to God that Altair had a plan, her heart sinking as he seemed to be surrendering. A sudden movement from the man she once called 'master', the hum of metal flying through the air and the sickening sound of a throwing knife burying itself in human flesh followed by the gurgling noises of a dying man and Sibylla was free. She jumped away from the guard who was slumped on the ground, clutching at his throat. She cringed as she felt the familiar sickness come over her that she had always felt after a kill. Altair's footfalls were loud and fast in her ears and she braced herself, knowing exactly what was to come. He grabbed her by the arm, jerking her around to face him. There was wrath in his eyes like none that she had ever seen before. She was honestly afraid of him now.

"You stupid, insolent child," he growled. "What did I tell you?!"

Sibylla held her tongue knowing she could not speak. She cringed in pain, his grip on her arm bruising her. He shook her slightly, demanding her to answer him. She hung her head instead, as if she were ashamed. He seemed to accept that since he released her and moved away, but stopped a few feet from her. Without warning he whirled on her and she heard the familiar sound of his hidden blade sliding from its hiding place as his arm came round. She tried to bite back the scream that rose in her throat, only half succeeding as a whimper erupted from behind her lips. The blade stopped, tip against her throat. His eyes were masked from her but she could easily imagine that the whimper intrigued him.

"You will return to the Bureau immediately," he growled.

"No, I will not," she hissed back before she even realized it.

"What did you just say?" He pushed the blade harder against her throat. Intimidation never worked on her though.

"I said, I will not return to the Bureau."

He backhanded her. It was so fast that she never saw him raise his hand. He hit her hard enough that she stumbled back and fell, her hood falling and blood filling her mouth. With the red liquid dribbling down her chin she turned her eyes on him. Altair paled, turning almost as white as his robes. She heard him curse under his breath as she stood, dusting herself off and wiping the blood off her chin.

"You were saying, Altair," she growled. It hurt to talk and she knew she would have a pretty bruise on her cheek.

"Sibylla," he gasped. "How? I thought…"

"Thought that Malik had me married off to a wealthy merchant after Kadar died?"

He nodded and she laughed, thought it was sarcastic.

"You should know me well enough by now, Altair."

His stupor seemed to wear off for he was moving towards her and he grabbed her again, his face only inches from hers. His golden-brown eyes were filled with an emotion she could not place, but his face was angry.

"We are going back to the bureau," he growled. "Malik has quite a bit of explaining to do."

With that, he began dragging her back. She knew it was useless to try and break his grip on her, and even if she did, he could outrun her. It was best to simply comply and follow his lead. Malik, she knew, would be furious with her and she cringed at the thought. She was not looking forward to the screaming match the two men were going to get into.

* * *

**Notes: **

Yes, Malik had a hidden blade. And yes, Malik did have is ring finger, unlike Altair. As did Al Mualim.

Malik: .com/tenshi_rising/images/malik/malik_

Al Mualim: .com/tenshi_rising/images/al%20mualim/al_mualim_

In fact, Altair did not lose his finger for an initiation. He lost his finger DURING his initiation mission when he was sent to kill King Barbarossa. (which is one of the few things that is messed up in the AC timeline)

The video(skip to 10:06): .com/xbox360/action/assassinscreed/video/6174521/assassins-creed-stage-demo-1

Assassin: .

Yes, there was game dialog in there. All that stuff between Altair and Malik is dialog taken directly from the game.

This chapter is more assassin-ish because I am sitting on the roof as I post it. Watching a meteor shower.

Sibylla's proper name is Sibylla bint Rashid al Mualim. Translated: Prophetess daughter of the Wise Teacher

------------

**Author Comment:**

Now officially two days late, I am utterly sorry, my loves. Next week's will probably be later, if I even post it at all. I am actually ahead of schedule as it is so I'm not that worried. This week is going to be difficult so I will either neglect the story or throw myself into it. Bear with me guys!


	5. History Lesson

_Alright alright, I know. Please dont kill me. I'm not pleased with it but it's better than nothing._

* * *

**Abstergo Industries Compound – 2012**

Images danced, blurred and faded before her eyes. She felt nauseous and confused. What had happened? Where was she and why was she seeing this? Her stomach lurched, bile pushing up her esophagus, burning and brining stinging tears to her eyes. She didn't remember being put in the Animus, nor did he remember exactly how she got here. The last thing her sluggish brain could remember was telling her superiors that she was going back for Desmond.

"What are you doing," yelled that voice that she hated with a fiery passion. "Why are you pulling them out!?"

"The sedative you gave Shayna are wearing off," said a female voice. "She's rejecting the Animus."

"She'll be fine."

"Warren! She could die in there."

"Alright, fine! Pull her out!"

The colors faded to the cool grey and white of the lab ceiling. The clear visor slid back onto its hiding place and Shayna immediately rolled and vomited on the floor. There was a disgusted noise from Vidic, but what did she care? A sadistic bit of her thoroughly enjoyed the fact that she was making a mess in his workspace. Let the bastard squirm.

"Jesus Christ," she heard Desmond say. Footsteps told her he was approaching her. She rolled back and laid flat on her back, her eyes closed and her hand on her forehead. She was surprised to feel the sweat there. Desmond reached her side and she felt him brush strands of hair away from her face.

"No more," he growled. "She can't handle this. Put her back in there and I'll find a way to kill you myself."

"My my, Mr. Miles, you are starting to sound like your ancestor more and more everyday," hissed Vidic.

"Yeah, well that's your fault, isn't it?!"

"She'll be fine, Mr. Miles. Miss Adair is more than familiar with the Animus and how it works."

"You call this fine?!"

"Desmond," said that female voice. "It's the sedative. If she had gone in willingly, she would be fine."

"Perhaps this will teach her to cooperate next time. Won't it, Miss Adair?"

"Fuck you," mumbled Shayna.

"I'm taking her back," Desmond growled.

Shayna felt his arms slide under her and lift her from the Animus. She didn't protest to him, knowing that she could probably barely walk if she tried to go to the room herself. She was far too sick. She never had reacted well to the Animus and the addition of sedatives did not help matters any. The silver lining of the situation was that it brought Vidic and Abstergo's plans to a screeching halt. She was not surprised to hear him storm out of the lab. What did surprise her is that his assistant did not follow.

"Desmond," said the girl and Desmond stopped.

"I wont let this keep happening, Lucy," he replied. They were on a first name basis? How odd.

"Desmond, there isn't anything I can do. If she won't cooperate then…"

"I don't care. She is a person, not some lab rat for Vidic to experiment on."

"Desmond… please… please understand."

"No."

Desmond continued, walking into his cell of a room and placed her gently on the bed. The door slid shut as he sat in the desk chair beside the bed. Shayna didn't need to look to know that his eyes were fixed on her. He had hovered over her since her capture, though she saw no real reason for him to. In fact, it would have been better for her to die, then they could not get to her memories. As the nausea subsided the events of the last few days came back to her and so did the irritability that failing the mission had inspired.

"What, Desmond," she growled more harshly than she meant.

"Why a white rose," he said after a long moment of silence. "I get the red one, but why white?"

Shayna looked at him, confused and then realized what he meant. She sighed, relaxing a bit as her stomach stopped churning violently.

"For its meaning," she replied.

"Which is?"

"White roses symbolize innocence, purity, secrecy and silence. To give someone a white rose, particularly a lover, you are saying that you believe yourself worthy of their love. A white and red rose together symbolize unity."

"Foreshadowing much?"

"Very much so," she said as she up slowly.

"So, what did happen to them," Desmond asked, watching her like a hawk. "I mean, at the end. You said they had children separately."

"I'm not entirely sure," Shayna replied. "I do know that there was a child between them though. Just one."

"So we have a cousin running around out there?"

"No. According to the records I found, the child died. I don't know when or how but apparently it was very young."

"And you and I are not related."

"No."

"But they were married up until they died," Desmond was pondering this very seriously it seemed. Really, she was not in the mood for Twenty Questions but doubted that his curiosity would subside.

"Up until she died anyways," she said. "After her death, Altair probably took another wife."

"I don't know. Judging from what I… we have seen, and if what you say is true about their level of devotion, I doubt he would just take another wife. As disgustingly romantic as it sounds, I would think it would be like lovebirds. He'd follow her to the grave."

"Perhaps."

She watched Desmond for awhile as he thought. He was handsome, bearing many of the same features that his ancestor did. If she believed in it, she would almost be convinced that he was a reincarnation of Altair. The idea was absurd though. Despite the silliness of the idea, she had to admit that it was odd that he bore the same scar that Altair did and that their physical features were so similar.

"Shaqr means Falcon doesn't it," asked Desmond.

"Yes," she whispered, her mind elsewhere.

"Altair and Malik called Sibylla 'Falcon'."

"They all did."

Desmond's eyes were on her again, examining her and she found it slightly unnerving. She wondered for a moment what was going through his head and then questioned her curiosity. She shook her head and instantly regretted it as a wave of nausea swept through her. Her hand flew to her head and she cursed Vidic's name under her breath.

"You should rest," Desmond said as he got up out of the chair. Shayna agreed with him but she could help but feel bad. He had completely given up his bed for her and had slept on the floor for the last two nights. He looked like he was settling down to do so again tonight. She had once offered to take the floor herself but he had insisted that she have the bed and the thought of sharing the bed with him, though it was big enough, sent an unpleasant shiver through her.

Before her guilt could get the best of her, Desmond had already moved over to her again and urged her to lay back. She obeyed without complaint, all too happy to rest, and allowed him to tuck her in. Once again, she pondered over his reasons and motives behind the gesture. For a split second before sleep took her, she wondered if the bleeding effect of the Animus had something to do with it, as he had been in it every day for months. She dismissed the thought and summed it all up to gratitude for attempting to save him. It wasn't long before sleep took her.

* * *

**_Notes_**

__

Shayna is a fountain of knowledge because she was in the Animus before. Remember, she was Subject Seven. After escaping from Abstergo, she then went back and did as much research as she possibly could on her ancestor. As it was somewhere around 800 years ago from 2012 (give or take) she didnt find much. Assassins were not very good record keepers when it came to that stuff.

Sibylla literally grew up with Altair and loved him her whole life. Since the two were so close, it is hard to extract those memories, particularly on Sibylla's side because her love for him was unrequited. So, Shayna needs a trigger to unlock those memories.

_The meaning of the roses and other flowers can be found here __http://www._

__

The thing about the roses is a reference back to chapter 2.

**_Author's Comments_**

__

I am well aware that this took way longer than I said it would. I actually lost all inspiration to write for a bit. THANK GOD for the release of the new AC2 trailer. And all of you had best go show Commissar 2908 some serious love because if he didnt RP Assassin's Creed so well, I'm not sure I would have had the drive to do this.

Also, thank him for some awesome ideas and inspiration. We started a new RP that no one can stalk and we have more freedom to do as we wish so there is a very interesting backstory developing between Altair and Sibylla which will reveal itself in new chapters.

_Eagle, I fucking love you_


	6. Bickering

**Jerusalem – 1191**

Altair watched as Malik pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed irritably. The man had another thing coming if he thought he was annoyed. Altair's level of pure irritation was bordering on rage. What was the fool thinking sending Sibylla after him? How could Malik sink so low? Altair felt like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. This was not the way he'd pictured seeing the girl again. He chanced a glance at her and was almost surprised to see how stoic she'd become. It was clear to him that the years had hardened her. And yet, it was no surprise at all. She had been banished from her home, taken from him, forcefully given to another man and then had that taken from her too. He could easily imagine the rage that bubbled beneath surface of her fair exterior. She hid it well, except for in her lovely eyes. Those eyes that had held him such high regard at one time and had shimmered with her love.

No matter. The past was past and he held no feelings for her now. Nor, he suspected, did she much care for him either. For a fleeting second, he felt guilty for the bruise on her face and her cut lip. The guilt was erased when he tongued the inside of his own scarred lips and he remembered how she had marked him. What goes around comes around.

His eyes slid back to Malik, who was glaring at Sibylla and she was glaring back. The rafiq shook his head and sighed again, muttering something under his breath. Altair cleared his throat impatiently. He had a mission to attend to.

"You could not follow simple instructions," growled Malik. "Always rebellious. Always getting yourself into trouble. The two of you were really a match made by the gods."

"Stay your tongue, brother," Sibylla hissed, catching Altair off his guard.

"Or you'll what? Cut it out in my sleep? Idle threats, _sister_, do not scare me."

"They should."

"What possessed you to send her after me," Altair snapped, interrupting the squabble. "If Al Mualim knew…"

"And when have you ever had any regard for what the Master says," Malik cut Altair off.

The two men stood glaring at each other fiercely. Altair was severely tempted to hit Malik until that damned smirk was no longer on his face. His fist shook with the effort to stay at his side until Sibylla, once again, surprised him.

"And when have you ever had any _disregard_ for what he says?"

Altair shivered as Malik's eyes slid back to Sibylla. Her voice was cold and venomous, completely opposite of gentle coo he remembered. The fact that she was arguing with Malik of all people was also rather unsettling to him. The two had always been closer than siblings and not once could he ever think of a time that the two argued. Sibylla and Kadar were always squabbling, but never Sibylla and Malik. This was far too much change for his tastes and he turned to leave.

"Where are you going," snapped Malik.

"Back to my mission," Altair snapped.

"Take her with you."

Altair spun around and glared at Malik. There was no way in hell he was taking the girl with him. She would get in the way. It had been far too long since she had been on a mission and she had probably forgotten everything she had learned. Plus, the last thing he needed was for Al Mualim to find out. He did not need any more trouble. Malik, however, was not going to relent. Altair fixed his icy eyes on the girl, who was regarding him with an equal amount of hatred. He sighed, rolled his eyes and motioned for her to lead. He watched her go to the courtyard before shooting Malik a look of contempt and then followed her. She waited by the wall.

"Start climbing," he growled. He had no intention to brief her on _his_ mission. He'd leave her somewhere or find a way to make her go back.

His eyes slid over her one last time as she readied to scale the wall. She _was_ beautiful. And as he had once predicted, she did hold the power to bring a man to his knees. He knew that he must be careful and guard himself against such a skill. He could not afford to let her seize his heart again. No, he would not be weak. Though, part of him could not help but be impressed with her, as she scaled the inner wall of the bureau and pulled herself onto the roof. She had been training and Malik hadn't stopped her. Perhaps he would not have to ditch her, so long as she could follow orders without argument. He knew her to be defiant and rebellious, but hopefully she still knew to respect her Master. He prodded the scar on his lip with his tongue again as he watched and then scaled the wall himself.

* * *

**_Notes:_**

_ I gave Altair's scar a backstory with help from my friend Jason. Basically, Sibylla slashed his mouth for what she thought was him insulting her when they were younger and it was also her who stitched him back up again. There will be a thing on it in an upcoming chapter. _

_**Author's Notes:**_

_ I know this is a long time coming and I'm sorry. My damn computer refused to work and I finally got it working tonight. So dont kill me. Here it is. Chapter 5 _


	7. Beating

**

* * *

**_Okay, I dont like the first two paragraphs butI had to do a bit of tweaking with this story because this whole chapter was RPed out originally and I had to do a bit of editing... Anyways, read the notes at the end, especially if you are confused._

* * *

**Jerusalem – 1191**

Sibylla paused on the roof of the Assassin's bureau and waited for Altair. She could feel his eyes on her and she ignored him. He apparently was content to ignore her too, for he passed her without a word and moved over the rooftops with alarming speed. She raced to keep up with him and it was clear that he was trying to lose her or make her turn back. She growled and kept up with him a little less easily than she would of if he wasn't deliberately trying to lose her.

This went on for hours as he went from one informant to the next. She dismissed his behavior and willingly hung back, lest one recognize her. No matter how angry she was with Altair, she did not wish for him to be in any more trouble with her father. But then he refused to allow her to eavesdrop and left her alone while he went to pickpocket the documents he needed. She grew bored, restless and even frustrated. He said not a word to her though, simply signaling her to stay back. If he was determined to make her quit this mission and leave him in peace, then he was sorely mistaken because she was equally determined to be on this mission.

As he led the way back to the bureau, she'd finally had enough of his silence and made up her mind to say something. She opened her mouth and then promptly snapped it shut again. No words came to her and she realized that she had absolutely nothing to say to him. She sighed irritably as they both dropped down in to the bureau and stood before Malik. He was pacing, no doubt clearly agitated.

"Malik," Altair said in a greeting.

"Come to waste more of my time," Malik asked darkly.

"I've found Talal. I'm ready to begin my mission."

"That is for me to decide," Malik snapped as he tossed the record book up on the counter with a loud thud, dust and sand flying up in a musty cloud. Altair was silent for a long time, glaring at him. Malik glared back.

"Very well! Here's what I know: he traffics in human lives, kidnapping Jerusalem's citizens and selling them into slavery. His base is a warehouse located inside the Barbican north of here. As we speak he prepares a caravan for travel. I'll strike while he's inspecting his stock. If I can avoid his men, Talal himself should prove little challenge."

"Little challenge?! Listen to you! Such arrogance."

"Are we finished," snapped Altair, irritably. "Are you satisfied with what I've learned?"

"No, but it will have to do," Malik growled and placed a single white feather on the counter in front of Altair. "Rest, prepare, cry in the corner... do whatever it is you do before a mission. But make sure you do it quietly."

Altair stood silently, mouth open like he was going to retort but closed it and took the feather, slipping it into a pouch on his belt and turned to walk away.

"Wait," called Malik. "What of the Novice? What has she to report?"

Sibylla looked between the two men. Altair was glaring down at her, the corners of his mouth curled down in a frown. His eyes were locked on her and she had the feeling that he wanted her to lie. The fool, didn't he know that she could not lie to Malik? When her eyes slid back to Malik, he was glaring at Altair's back. He sighed, heavily.

"Altair, she was sent with you for a reason. You cannot keep her from the mission."

"The mission is mine and mine alone, Malik" Altair growled as he turned to face the other man. "It was assigned to me and the Master did not assign me a novice."

"But I did! And I, currently, outrank you."

"Fine." Altair turned towards Sibylla and snapped, "Prepare for the mission, child"

"Altair," Malik growled. "Treat her with respect! You make this far more difficult than it has to be with that arrogance."

Sibylla glared up at Altair in complete shock. Did he really just call her a child? She was far from one and a seven year age difference hardly made her a child to him. He certainly didn't think of her as one three years ago. She growled, trying to bite back the retort on her tongue but failed to do so, unwilling to bear the slight against her, especially not from he who had taken so much from her.

"I am no child, _Master,_" she hissed.

"You will hold you tongue, _Child,_" he snapped, whirling back on her. "Or I will cut it out. Now start climbing!"

Sibylla crossed her arms and stood her ground, glaring fiercely up at him, not willing to budge until she had won this standoff. He had a lot of nerve threatening her and she was honestly surprised that Malik hadn't come to her rescue. No, Malik simply watched, an amused smirk on his face.

"I'd like to see you try," she snarled.

Altair grabbed her rather suddenly, his firm grip hurting her arm and he dragged her into the courtyard and out of Malik's line of vision. He then threw her to the ground with a snarl.

"I am your superior! Now you _will _climb!"

Sibylla hit the ground hard but stood quickly, ignoring the aching in her backside and arm. She glared at him, waiting only a moment to see if Malik would come. It sounded like he was pulling out a map to work on and she inwardly sighed. She was alone in this. She gathered herself up and stood a bit straighter. Altair was going to show her some respect or she would make this mission a living hell for him.

"And you _will_ keep your hands off of me," she snapped with a ferocity that matched his violence. Before he could reprimand her, she turned and scaled the wall quickly, pausing only when she reached the top and had pulled herself into the roof to wait for him again. It didn't take him long to reach the top himself.

"Stay by my side," he said quietly with an undertone of respect. She stared at him for a long time, confused. He did not look at her, but he did look bothered and she had to wonder what had taken place in his mind between the time she snapped at him and now. She quickly masked her expression and nodded.

"Yes, Master," she replied, working a tone appropriate of a subordinate into her words. "Lead the way."

"You must not draw attention to yourself, you will not kill unless ordered to…" he paused for a long moment and appeared to be thinking, scratching his chin. "… In fact, do not do anything without orders. Any mistake, no matter how small, can potentially lead to death. Just follow my lead, young one."

He walked to a ladder nearby and stood waiting for her response before he went down it. She followed him, sighing to herself. It was a lecture she had heard from him before. Malik constantly quizzed her on all these things as well. Still, she smiled a little as she came to stand beside him.

"I had a great teacher, once, who taught me all these things," she said with great respect. "I have not forgotten the lessons he taught me so long ago. Malik won't let me forget them either. Not after what happened to Kadar…"

She trailed off and a lump rose up in her throat. She looked away from him as his eyes went wide and he stiffened, biting her lip. After a moment, Altair relaxed beside her but there was tension between them. Her heart ached and she imagined that Kadar was a painful subject for him as well, though for an entirely different reason.

"Well, as long as you can keep yourself from getting killed," he stated, his voice tight. He glanced at her quickly before starting down the ladder. She followed, though she slid down to keep him from waiting, receiving a glare from him. Too flashy apparently. She watched him carefully as he scanned the area, reading every little movement he made.

She saw the Templars at the time as him and he quickly folded his hands before him and moved as the scholars did. She watched him for a long moment until he was up the street and she realized that the Templars were watching him as well. Altair was readying to go up another ladder, his back to the Templars, not realizing that they had followed him around the corner. Sibylla thought rapidly. She pushed her hood off, a dangerous idea, pulled her hair from its pinnings and ran towards the templars.

"Help," she called as she ran up to them. They'd never suspect a woman of being an assassin, especially when she was so boldly approaching them. "Help! My father's being robbed! Please, you must help us!"

The guards turned towards her and she saw Altair turn to glare at her before he sprinted up the ladder. The two men looked her over and she suddenly became very self conscious. They looked at each other and smiled.

"Please," she begged. "He's a wealthy merchant and I am sure he will reward you greatly for saving him. Please, you must hurry!"

The guards grinned and the one on the right looked at her again. She chanced a glance at Altair who was crouched on the roof watching her intently. He looked annoyed.

"Where is he," the one guard asked.

"That way," she pointed down the road that so conveniently curved. They nodded and trotted down the busy street, leaving her behind. She waited until they were out of sight before sprinting towards the ladder that Altair had climbed moments ago.

"You insolent little girl," Altair snapped, grabbing her roughly and dragging her away from the ledge. "If you so much as breathe wrong, I _will _strike you stand!"

Out of pure reflex, Sibylla swung at him, her fist connecting with his chest, which was like stone. There was an audible pop in her wrist when she hit him and she yelped, twisting herself free of his grip and clutching her wrist that wasted no time in erupting in a sharp throbbing pain. She couldn't understand why he was acting like this. She had just saved his ass. She didn't care if he realized it or not and summed it up to a hurt ego. She made no effort to stop the words that spilled from her mouth.

"I told you to keep your hands off of me, _Altair_," she hissed his name with venom. "Stop treating me like a child, swallow your damned hurt ego and do your job properly."

She knew she had struck a chord with him, and not a good one, when he seized her already injured arm in a vice grip, pulling her to him and holding her still. He struck her then, releasing her as the force jerked her head around. Blood filled her mouth again, the cut from earlier reopening, as she fell. She caught herself with her hands, her wrist protesting to the weight she now put on it. She stayed like that, in complete shock, hands and knees aching from connecting with the hard roof.

"You will _never_ speak to me that way again, _Novice_," he spat. He then kicked her hard in the ribs, obviously to punctuate his point to her and turned away as she rolled onto her back, the force of the kick having brought her all the way down. She coughed weakly and lay there for a good long moment, glaring at his back.

Sibylla honestly couldn't decide what hurt more; her list of injuries or her pride. Tears welled up in her eyes as she pushed herself up into a sitting position. The coppery taste of blood in her mouth made her cringe and the throbbing in her ribs made her clutch them. She stood slowly, deciding that she was not going to put up with Altair's foul mood. She spat at his feet a good amount of blood before turning back towards the ladder. She went down it as quickly as she could and made her way down the dusty road bruised, bloody and crying.

It took less than two minutes for him to get to her. He grabbed her from behind, winding his arm around her waist and pulled her into an alley that came to a dead end. He didn't let her go, but held her more gently than someone in as foul a mood as his would, and pressed her to the wall. She was aware of him, his hard body, his masculine scent, but unlike every other time he'd been this close to her, she was disgusted by him and his perfect form.

"Where do you think you are going" he demanded, his tone still angry.

Sibylla turned her teary eyes up at him, not giving a damn if he saw that she was crying and thought her weak for it. It was his fault anyways. She looked up at him with all the hatred she could muster and pushed him away weakly.

"_Home_, Altair, I'm going _home_," she said wearily, wincing at the pain in her mouth. "Finish the mission however you see fit. I will not willingly subject myself to someone who would lose his temper so easily. I'm your _pupil_, Altair, not you damn sparring dummy." She let that sink in for a while and was satisfied to see him visibly wince under her glare. After a long moment of silence she sighed and said, "I'll not tell Malik what happened. I'll tell him I misjudged a leap and fell. It's believable enough."

Altair's brow furrowed and something in his eyes changed. He opened his mouth and closed it again and she could tell he was fighting an internal battle of some sort, though what it could possibly be, she had no clue what.

"Sibylla," he began and paused, hesitating. "I… You crossed a line as an apprentice that never should have been crossed."

She opened her mouth to argue, outraged at him, but he put his fingers to her lips to silence her.

"But it is I that is at fault," he continued, firmly. "I am your teacher and as such, I need to display more control."

His hand dropped from her mouth and she stared up at him in shock. Altair never apologized to anyone for anything. It was clear in his face that this did not come easily to him, his pride further injured by this apology. He hated being wrong and even more so, he hated admitting when he was wrong. He had always been that way.

"Please join me," he said softly, just above a whisper.

Sibylla regarded him coldly for a long moment, shifting painfully as she took a deep breath, her ribs protesting to every last movement she made. She knew she had crossed a line and knew that she was just as at fault as he was. It was hard for her to admit that she was wrong too.

"Forgive me for being out of line," she sighed, displeased with how colored with pain her voice was. "I demand as much respect as the next person and I react poorly to any and every slight against me. It's self-defense for me… forgive me. I shall _try_ to stay my hand and my tongue in the future."

She looked away from him, wincing as she took another deep breath. She wondered how forced her apology sounded to him because it felt extremely forced and she wasn't sure if she honestly meant it. She knew he accepted it, whether or not she meant it, when his hand came to rest on her shoulder, his eyes softer than they had been all day.

"Come on," said softly and lead her out of the alley gently. It took her a moment to realize it, but was quickly confused to see that they were headed back towards the bureau.

"Wait," she protested, but did not physically fight him. "I thought that…"

"You're injured," he cut her off. "Your hand is useless to you and thus, you are useless to me. You need rest and your injuries need to be looked at."

Sibylla did not argue with him and looked up at the ladder that Altair had stopped in front of. She turned to climb it, wincing and whimpering with the movement. Altair was right behind her. He was closer than she would have liked but she knew he only did it to ensure that she would not fall.

"Just a little further, Little Girl," he said softly.

Her heart leapt into her throat as she heard him use one of his old pet-names for her. She shook her head and concentrated on the climb, refusing to let old feelings surface. He did just beat her and he had hurt her in more ways than just that in the past three years without even being present in her life. She was not ready to completely forgive him for everything. She pulled herself up the last few rungs and walked towards the opening to the Bureau. She stared down at it doubtfully. Altair was beside her almost instantly.

"I'll go first," he said as he turned and dropped down. As soon as his feet touched the ground, his eyes were on her and he motioned for her follow, indicating hat he would catch her. She was irked that he expected her to fall, now matter how sure she was that she would. She dropped down, not bothering to grip the wall, her wrist being useless for the time being, and stumbled. She fell roughly against Altair's chest, and he caught her, holding her securely, taking only a steadying step backwards himself. She winced in pain and let out a small yelp. Altair didn't move to get her out of his arms and she took advantage of that factor until the pain passed.

"What in the named of Allah have _you _done to her," yelled Malik.

Altair released her immediately and turned to look at the very angry Rafiq. Sibylla quickly sidestepped him to be between the men, an odd desire to defend Altair rising up in her. Malik looked as if he could kill Altair.

"I fell," she said quickly. "I misjudged the distance between two rooftops and tried to catch myself. If Altair hadn't been there… it would have been much worse."

It was clear that Malik wasn't buying the story and she knew she had to look a mess with bloodstained teeth, bruised and swollen cheek, clutching her ribs with a blatantly limp wrist and covered in dust. Malik's suspicious eyes drifted from her to the man behind her.

"Is that so?" he said, sarcasm dripping from his words. "Tell me, Altair, what act of heroism did _you_ perform?"

Altair snarled, "I do not have to explain myself to you, Malik. She is _my_ apprentice and I shall do with her as I see fit."

Altair took her unbruised arm then and pulled her to her room. How he found it, she did not know, but he seemed to navigate his way there as if by memory. He released her there and slammed the door, locking it. With a sigh, he pushed the hood from his head and ran his fingers through his hair, glancing at her and beginning to pace a bit. Sibylla was honestly infuriated with him again. He was treating her like a piece of property and she didn't like it. Nor did she like the fact that he was suddenly possessive over her when he had originally not wanted anything to do with her.

"How _dare_ you," she hissed. "Just because I am your apprentice does not mean that I am your property! Do _not_ treat me like I am!"

She was panting, the effort from yelling was too much for her. Her breath caught in her chest suddenly and she hit her knees, lightheaded, searing pain ripping through. She knew the binding over her breasts were not helping her any right now. She saw Altair ready to strike her again, for her rebellion, but was inwardly smug when he hand dropped and he kneeled beside her, holding her.

"Foolish little girl, that is _exactly_ what you are," he growled, though his voice was far more gentle than the meaning behind his words. "You, body and soul, are the property of your Assassin Master, which happens to be me."

She felt Altair's fingers in her hair and felt him pull her head to the side, exposing her neck to him. She inhaled sharply knowing exactly what he was going to do and braced herself. He bit her at the crook, where her neck and shoulder came together, the one spot that made her weak. Goosebumps rose up on her skin and she started to go limp against him, her mind fogging, eyelids dropping. She was shocked that he remembered where to bite after so many years. Her stupor ended as his teeth sank down into her flesh and did not stop until she knew he was tasting blood. She tried to push against him, the pain driving her, but also hindering her and she could do nothing but give in and allow him to mark her as his. He lowered her slowly to the floor, his jaws slowly letting up on her neck and she held on to him as her mind finally cleared and she realized that this had a different meaning than she had originally thought. She let him pull away from her, hardly noticing the frown on his face as he sat against the wall.

"I have something to tell you," he said heavily. She simply rolled her head to the side to look at him, a slow trickle of blood tickling her shoulder as she lay there. He looked troubled and her stomach knotted painfully as she saw the look in his honey eyes.

"Does it have to do with Malik," she asked cautiously.

"Yes," he replied, running his hand through his already messy hair.

Sibylla sat up quickly, reeling slightly from the pain and the overload to her senses. She was honestly concerned now, for Altair looked like a man about to face an executioner and it did not sit well with her at all. She watched him carefully, noting how handsome he still was and had become with age.

"Go on then," she said carefully, wiping the blood from her neck.

Altair launched into a long and detailed account of that day in Solomon's Temple, recounting with shame the horrible things he'd done, the innocent people he killed and his part in Kadar's death. He talked of the day that she left Masyaf, of Adha and his failed mission a year ago. He spoke without stopping for over an hour before he finally fell silent, his eyes on her and she knew he was waiting for her reaction. Tears were spilling down her cheeks. Altair had become a hard and bitter man and it was too painful to acknowledge. But it was the details about Kadar's death that hurt most. Altair told her the things that Malik had refused to speak of and a silent rage bubbled under skin. He disgusted her.

"You bastard," she hissed and slapped him. She was honestly surprised when he didn't react. She glared at him, the waves of hurt overtaking her. She beat her fists against his chest angrily, ignoring the pain in her wrist, as a sob tore at her throat. Now it was all coming out, everything she had held in and she hated him for making it come out and she told him so. Finally, she collapsed, exhausted against his chest and just sobbed. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight and letting her cry.

"You took him from me," she whimpered pitifully. "You almost took Malik from me. I _hate_ you."

Altair said nothing, simply rubbed her back. Time seemed to drag as she failed to stifle her sobs, crying uncontrollably, and Altair sat motionless and silent. Her head felt like it was going to split open from the raging headache that developed, but still she could not silence herself and she felt weak and pathetic here. And it was all Altair's fault. Yet, she made no effort to get away from him. She didn't want to cry alone and she wanted him to see the pain he inflicted. She wanted him to suffer and feel guilty for this because he once said he loved her. He was going to hurt as much as her whether he wanted to or not.

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_**Notes**:_

_The dialogue between Altair and Malik in the beginning is taken directly from the game._

_Altair is moody. I know, I know, slightly out of character for him but I promise that it will all be clarified in the next chapter as to WHY he's acting this way. All that I will say now is that Altair has no problem treating her exactly as he treats any other novice._

_This could easily be legit in the game. Remember when the Animus says "fastforwarding to a more recent memory" after Altair recieves the feather? Yeah, this is what would be happening during the time that was skipped over._

_Sibylla's wrist injurt is also legit. I based it completely off an injury I once had from punching someone. Basically, the force of the punch caused her hand to be pushed back into her wrist and is easily remedied by having her hand popped back out, bracing it and not using it. It's incredibly painful and sucks._

_Sibylla has a fractured rib or two. Altair kicked her that hard. He's kinda of an asshole, but like I said, it will all be explained in the next chapter._

_I decided not to lengthen the chapter by actually writing out Altair's retelling of the incedent in Solomon's Temple and the events with Adha in Altair's Chronicles primarily because we've all played the games. We already know. We dont need to hear it again._

_If anyone remembers the prologue, Altair called Sibylla "little girl" and "little falcon". The pet name "little girl" was already in use for the story but it's use was guarnteed when I realized how fitting Depeche Mode's "Enjoy the Silence" was for the two._

_"Words like violence  
Break the silence  
Come crashing in  
Into my little world  
Painful to me  
Pierce right through me  
Can't you understand?  
Oh my Little Girl,_

All I ever wanted,  
All I ever needed  
Is here, in my arms  
Words a very unnecessary  
They can only do harm.

Vows are spoken  
To be broken  
Feelings are intense  
Words are trivial  
Pleasures remain  
So does the pain  
Words are meaningless  
And forgettable."

Double meaning for Altair biting Sibylla. First, to punctuate his point. Second, his way of saying "MINE". He lost Sibylla before and he doesnt intend to lose her again.

Oh Noes! A spoiler for Chapter 7!

Malik is not getting involved because this is all between Altair and Sibylla. He sorta planned this. He's concerned about what is going on but he's not going to step in until he really needs to. He thinks Sibylla is far too sheltered for her own good sometimes.

**Author's Note**:

I stayed up all night to write most of this. Had to call it quits at around 5am. I left you guys on a bit of a cliffhanger and I did it on purpose. This is not over! Chapter 7 is going to be from Altair's persepctive and we will have sme insight into what the fuck is wrong with him right now, because seriousy, that was all pretty messed up, right?

Things will get a bit... steamy as well for those of you who are dying after the prologue. Not smut, but it will be good and you all thoroughly enjoy it and I promise this is pretty much the end of Altair's irrational mood swings.

_Shadow Falcon and Sibylla © Samantha Shattles_

Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft Montreal


	8. Enjoy the Silence

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_I'm on a role! wooot! Two chapters in two days!_

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**Jerusalem – 1191**

Hours had passed since Sibylla had slapped him. She had stopped crying and now lay, seemingly content, against his chest. She didn't move except when she took a shuddering breath every so often. Altair's lower back was cramping from sitting so still for so long, but he ignored his discomfort as he ran his hand through Sibylla's hair. He was kicking himself mentally. He'd hurt her. He never wanted to hurt her but he had. His very presence in her life had hurt her and for the first time in years, he was honestly sorry for his selfish actions. She was one person that he never wanted to hurt.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, breaking the silence finally. He honestly didn't know what else to say to her.

"I hate you," she replied in a small voice, saying those three words for what seemed like the hundredth time. They still stung him somewhere deep inside and he knew he deserved every bit of her contempt.

"I know," he whispered, burying his face in her hair and held her a little tighter. He did not understand how she did it; how she had managed to penetrate every defense he put around his foolish heart and captured it once again. Perhaps it was seeing her cry that did it. He had always hated seeing her cry when they were children. At first, it was because he was always afraid that he would get blamed, but as he grew older he realized it was because it hurt him to see her cry and even more to be the cause of her tears. It wasn't long after that epiphany that he realized that he had loved her.

"Sibylla," he said softly. She shifted in his arms and whimpered. It was then that he remembered that she was injured and that he was the one who did it. "Where are you hurt?"

Sibylla moved out of his arms, sitting up on her own and cringing. He couldn't help but wince as he saw how swollen and bruised her cheek was. Moreover, he winced because he could not believe that he had done that to her. If that was what his hand did, he was loathing seeing what her ribs looked like.

"Arm, mouth, ribs, wrist," she replied coldly.

"Can you disrobe," he asked cautiously. The outrage in her eyes did not catch him off guard.

"I believe so."

"Then do so."

She stared at him and he waited far more patiently than he would have liked. After a while, she stood and began removing her weapons and finally stripped down to just her pants and the binding over her breasts. Heat rose up in him slowly at the sight of her almost naked before him but he pushed it back down and stood. Upon a closer inspection, he was shocked to see how tightly she bound herself.

"The binding," he said slowly, soliciting a glare from her that could kill. He met the glare head on, holding her eyes with his own and not giving into the pleading that was behind her hateful look. She finally gave in and slowly began to remove the binding from around her torso.

Altair circled her as she peeled the cloth from her, revealing faint bruises all over. His eyes slid over her and he kept his lust at bay, trying to ignore the fact that Sibylla was actually a half naked woman and that he was locked in a room with her. He took a deep breath as she finished, her arms covering her breasts, and came around to stand in front of her.

"You wrap your bindings too tightly," he said softly, his eyes straying downwards. He pushed them further to her ribs, where he had kicked her and the nasty bruise there. He gently took her left arm, his fingertips accidentally brushing across her chest, and raised it so that he could better examine her side. She was glaring at him again and he ignored her, moving a hand to push lightly to find the fractured rib. She dodged his hand and yelped in pain and he glared at her.

"Trust me," he commanded, placing his left hand over the bruise and pushing lightly. Sibylla hissed through clenched teeth and he had an idea which rib was broken. He allowed his hand to linger on her longer than he should have, marveling that she still seems so familiar to his finger tips. He sighed and turned his attention to her injured wrist and examined it. It was off colored but did not appear to be broken. He knew exactly what she had done for he had injured himself in a similar way when he was young. He took a firm grip on her arm and took her hand gently in his free one. There was a silvery line that extended from the center of her palm that split into two parts that both traveled up her ring and middle fingers. He smiled gently at the sight of it, pleased to see that her hand had healed so nicely after she nearly amputated her own fingers with her hidden blade. He shifted his eyes to hers.

"Recite the tenets of the Creed," he ordered. She looked at him, obviously confused. He waited.

"'Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent'," she began. He continued to wait for the proper time to pull her hand from her wrist, setting it back into place. "'Hide in plain sight, and never compromise the…' OUCH"

The last tenet was cut off by not only her scream but an audible pop in her wrist that he felt up into her hand. She wretched it free of him, clutching her wrist while trying to keep herself covered. He couldn't help but smirk. He turned away from her and moved to the washbowl near her bed. A rag sat by it and he wet it, ringing it out before he moved back to her. She was glaring at him and for some reason he found it absolutely adorable. Altair carefully dabbed the bite on her neck, cleaning the last of the blood with a satisfied smirk. It was a mark he should have left on her long ago. It would scar, and though he hated the idea of any blemish on her, this was one he could bear.

"Why didn't Malik tell me," she asked, fixed on him.

"Tell you what?" He didn't look at her.

"Everything you told me about Kadar. He left out so much when he told me what happened. Why?"

Altair's eyes slid to hers and locked with them as he spoke, "If you were Malik, would you have said anything?"

"I had a right to know."

"But would _you_ have said anything."

Sibylla was quiet for a long time and Altair could not help but be fascinated by her eyes as she calculated and chose her answer carefully. A million emotions flitted through those beautiful orbs that were as wild and unpredictable as the sea. But he did not get the answer he expected. Instead she changed the subject.

"Why didn't you just listen? You could have saved yourself so much pain and humiliation."

"I could ask _you_ the same question," he snapped, annoyed that she was bringing it up. He was careful not to lose his temper again. No matter how mad he was at the situation, he did not need to take it out on her again.

"Don't turn this around on me, Altair."

"Sibylla," he growled, giving her a look of warning that he knew she would disregard.

"You're temper and your ego is out of control! You are offended by every last thing! And you take it out on anyone in your path."

"I am warning you, girl."

"Or you'll what," she snapped. "Beat me again? Go ahead! I'm of no real concern to you now that your heart belongs to your precious _Adha._"

Altair raised a hand to strike her, but did not follow through when she did not flinch. He dropped his hand with a snarl.

"Just like I was nothing to _you_ after you were betrothed to Kadar. Tell me something, Sibylla; how long was it after you left Masyaf before you let him _have_ you?"

"You arrogant pig," she spat at him. He knew before the words had slipped off his tongue that he'd gone to far and he honestly didn't mean it. He held his ground though, knowing it was too late to take it back. It was out there, the paranoia he'd felt since the moment he found out she was promised Malik's brother.

"For your information," she snapped. "Not that it is any of your business, he never touched me, nor did he try. You're the only one."

Altair had to work to keep his jaw from dropping. True, he had no reason to ever think of Sibylla as a woman of such low morals but he had almost expected her to lay with Kadar since they had been betrothed. He realized, too late, that the shock was naked on his face and it was clear that she was hurt by it. He bit his lip, quickly masking his emotions and drew a deep breath. There was another question that nagged at him and he hesitated to ask; did not know if he could bear the answer. She turned away from him.

"Did you take the herbs," he asked her, his voice shaking slightly. She did not answer him immediately. "Sibylla? Did Al Mualim make you take the herbs?"

"Yes," she sighed. "He gave them to me but I did not take them."

"And… did… was there?"

"No." she said darkly. "I was not with child. I cried for days when my cycle came."

"Why," he was confused why she would be upset over not being pregnant.

"Because, Altair, I was in love with you and if I couldn't have you, I wanted a part of you that I could call my own. Something that no one could ever take from me."

He stood there, silent and unsure how to react and utterly distressed to find that another barrier around his heart had crumbled in her presence. He couldn't understand the gentle ache in his heart nor did he want to understand it. He shook his head and moved around her to gather the cloth that she used for binding. He began to work silently, creating a sling for her arm and then binding her arm against her ribcage. He ignored her naked breasts, despite the temptation they offered him, though it was not easy and as he finished his work, he found it even more difficult not to let his eyes wander over her.

Altair kneeled before her, securing the last of the binding around her lower torso. His hand strayed as he finished, fingertips tracing over her flat stomach and he looked up at her as she shivered under his hand. He was fascinated by her. He always had been and he had truly wondered about the feminine body under her robes that his hands had touched but he had never seen.

"You've kept yourself well," he said softly. "You must be proud."

"I didn't stop to mourn Kadar's passing," she said and he was amused to see that her eyebrow twitched upwards. "Malik allowed me his sword to train and I poured my time and energy into that."

His eyes slid back to her stomach and he briefly wondered over what things would have been like had she stayed in Masyaf and if she had been carrying his child. He tried to imagine it but could not and the pain in his heart from re-awakening his past desires made it all the more difficult. He pressed his forehead to her and sighed heavily. Her free hand was in his hair and he was amazed that she wasn't trying to get away from him. Instead, she was holding him as best she could, comforting him and his throat tightened as he held the urge to shed tears over all that he'd lost at bay.

Sibylla stepped away from him after a minute and pulled on a tunic. He watched her, missing her warmth, wanting more and knowing that he couldn't have her. That was why she had been sent away in the first place, so that he couldn't have her. He was an assassin. Love was not for him. He should have learned that by know after losing Adha. Sibylla's hand on his face startled him. Her smooth hand was curved under his chin and she brought his face up to hers. She said nothing to him, and he wondered over her action until her thumb touched the scar on his lips. His flesh tingled under her touch.

"We're even now," she said. "Scar for a scar. I marked you and now you have marked me."

She leaned down then and kissed the corner of his mouth very softly, exactly the way she had after she had stitched his torn lips back together. The vividness of the memory of that day nearly sent him reeling. He had been angry and snapped at her, though he had not meant a word of what he had said. Her temper had gotten the best of her and she had come at him with a throwing knife. He had been lucky that his mouth had only paid the price of his arrogant tongue and she had been lucky that Malik had been there to stay his hand in his blind rage. And yet, he had been the one to insist that she not be punished for her deed.

Altair wanted to turn his head and seize her lips, to taste her and make her his. He wanted so much but could not take. Her soft smell was getting him drunk, clouding his judgment and he knew he needed to leave or he might make a rash decision that he could not afford. It took all of his willpower to keep himself from pulling her back to him when she righted herself. Her hand caressed his cheek, cracking his already weak will and he reached for her hand before she could pull it away. He turned it palm up in his hands and stared for a moment. He was pleased that her hands were untouched by the life of an assassin. With the exception of the scar on her other hand, her hands were still perfect, soft and un-calloused. He pressed his lips to her palm and stood.

"Rest now," he said, pushing away his emotions and motioning towards her bed.

"The mission," she asked, clearly crestfallen.

"Not this time, Falcon."

Sibylla's eyes lit up and he had to repress the smile that was trying to tug at the corners of his mouth. Thankfully, she obeyed and let him go. He slipped out the door, closing it behind him, and leaned against the wall with a sigh. Malik was there; hand on his hip and glaring at him with a raised eyebrow. He glared back at the one-armed Rafiq.

"What?"

"Don't go falling in love with her again," Malik ordered.

"What I do is my business, Malik, not yours."

Altair pushed himself off of the wall, tugged his hood back on, and headed towards the exit. He needed to deal with Talal. He had wasted far too much time as it was.

"And she is in my care, Altair. If you are true in your ambition to regain favor in the eyes of the old man, then you will think of her as nothing more than a novice, like you should have done three years ago."

"Then perhaps _you_ should have thought of that _before_ you insisted that I take her as my novice again," he growled, whirling back around to face Malik. The other man stood there, unimpressed and clearly unashamed. Altair shook his head and continued his exodus.

"I had hoped that you were over your silly obsession, Altair," Malik said finally as Altair prepared to scale the wall in the courtyard.

"I have a slaver to do away with and no time to spare to argue with you," Altair snapped. Malik did not respond and he sighed angrily and climbed to the roof. He looked out over Jerusalem, the slight breeze stirring his robes. He flicked his wrist and the hidden blade slid through the empty space where his ring finger was missing. He sighed again as it retracted and made two decisions. First, Malik was right, unfortunately, and he could not afford to fall in love with Sibylla again, thus he wouldn'tm if he could help it. Second, he'd need to control his temper when he was around her. He could have easily killed her today and that would not sit well with the Master at all.

He started over the rooftops towards Talal and continued to push away his emotions and his thoughts of Sibylla. His last thought of her before he closed himself off was the memory of her standing before him, her arms wrapped tightly around him, her eyes spilling tears down her lovely face as he said goodbye to her. The echo of her voice from three years past mirrored his present thought.

_"Then what becomes of us?"_

"The world will decide." he mumbled the answer he gave to her then. "The world always decides."

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**_Notes:_**

_Altair made a splint for Sibylla's ribs with her arm. You CAN do that._

_Altair is ultimately torn between duty and his heart._

_Malik is regretting his decision to allow Sibylla to be near Altair because she is so badly injured._

Kingdom of Heaven_ reference, find it. If you read the prologue, you already know what it is. Lots of references to the prologue so if you havent read it yet for some reason, do so now._

_**Author's Notes:**_

_dA does not like me today._

_Anyways, this was another all-nighter for you guys. I wanted to get this done before I go to my mom's house sinc emy laptop is not working. It was pretty hard to do off the RP I was using because in the RP, Sibylla and Altair had no past. So adding all the stuff was pretty difficult._

_I have to go off of another RP for Abu'l Nuquod's assassination..._

_Oh spoilers!_

_Sibylla and Shadow Falcon © Samantha Shattles  
Assassin's Creed © Ubisoft Montreal_


	9. Guilty

_*SPOILER ALERT* IF YOU HAVENT PLAYED AC2 OR BLOODLINES I SUGGEST YOU DO THAT BEFORE READING THIS!_

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**Abstergo Industries Compound – 2012**

Desmond blinked a few times as the images the Animus produced faded from his vision. By the time the dizziness had worn off and he sat up and looked to her, Shayna was already gone. He saw her slip into the room they shared and he couldn't help but frown. Something was obviously bothering her. Before he could ponder that, he realized that Lucy was standing next to him. Her eyes were expectant. Vidic was not to be seen either. He regarded her for a moment before his eyes slid back to where Shayna had disappeared to. This did not escape Lucy's notice.

"Should I be concerned," she asked with venom in her soft voice. "Or is it the bleeding effect?"

"What are you talking about," he growled, far more irritably than he wanted.

"Her. You hardly leave her side! You're fiercely over protective and you look at her with adoration!"

"She tried to save my life, Lucy."

"And I didn't?!"

Desmond stared in disbelief. Was she really throwing a fit and over Shayna? Guilt began to eat at him. He and Lucy had been an item, sort of. He cared about her but there was something about Shayna that he liked more. Maybe it was the bleeding effect, maybe it was gratitude. Or maybe it was pure concern because everyday, Shayna seemed to be getting weaker, more depressed and obviously hurting. Perhaps he just had a thing for a damsel in distress.

"I didn't mean it like that," he said, defeated.

"Then how did you mean it," she yelled, tears welling up. "Because every day, Desmond, you slip away from me. Every day I see how the way you look at her changes. And I can't take it."

"Lucy, you're overreacting."

"Am I? I think you need to figure it out, Desmond, and figure it out soon."

Lucy then turned away from him and left the room. Desmond sat there for a moment, shaking his head before heading to the room. Shayna was sitting on the bed, looking at him from the corner of her eye. He shifted uncomfortably under her piercing gaze. She looked as if she would speak but she did not. Instead her whole body seemed to tense, a graceful flexing of muscles and tendons beneath milky flesh.

"I know you wish to ask," said she. "So ask."

Desmond thought for a moment on the things he'd seen in the Animus. True, some of it had been disturbing but he had nothing to comment on. Nothing that baffled him like the roses had. It was rather clear that their ancestors had a deep bond and an undying devotion towards each other which they fought against in fear, just as Shayna had told him. What more explanation did he need than what the Animus showed him?

"There's nothing to ask," he said, taking up his usual spot on the chair. Shayna watched him still and something about the look in her eyes made him squirm.

"It's not the bleeding effect," she said softly, her eyes finally dropping, a light pink tinting her cheeks. Desmond stared, curious as she continued. "I feel it too. It's not the Animus and it's not gratitude."

"Then what is it?"

"Something natural. But it need not be dwelt upon or acted on."

Shayna kept her eyes from him and began fingering the dogtags around her neck. Desmond was curious about her. If she felt the same for him, why not act on it? Why not express it. True, he had Lucy to worry about and really no business getting involved with the woman in front of him, but still. Shayna hadn't so much as flirted with him and he found this odd. Perhaps, he should question it. Perhaps not. For all he knew, she had someone waiting for her. If that was the case, then he felt horrible for her presence here.

"Were you in the military," he asked her. She looked up suddenly, clearly surprised.

"No," she said, eyes returning to the dogtags. "My father was. Army. These are my twin brother's. He was a Marine."

"Was? Both retired?"

"No. My father did… Medical retirement. He was shot in Vietnam and lost his arm. My brother went over to Iraq and came home in a coffin six months later."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Don't be. Jaylen knew the risks. He died a hero and received the Purple Heart, just like our father. I wear his dogtags to remember."

"Still," said Desmond. "You two were twins. Doesn't that mean you have this super close bond?"

"Yes," Shayna smiled, though sorrow tinted it. "We did and it was hard to lose him. It's a wound that will never heal but I have come to terms with it."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Shayna didn't say anything. She was looking at him, as if she didn't know if she should cry or do nothing. Desmond was surprised when she moved aside and patted the bed beside her. He proceeded very cautiously to sit beside her, his eyes questioning her all the while. She still clutched Jaylen's dogtags in her hand as she stared up him. She had lovely eyes, he had to admit, and he found himself getting lost in those deep blue pools of liquid fire. He saw a lot in her eyes and realized this was the first time she let him gaze so deeply into them. Before she had always avoided meeting his eyes but now she held his without flinching, exposing the windows to herself fully and unashamedly. More startling than this was when she moved closer to him, curling up, and rested her head on his chest. He instinctively wrapped his arm around her and held her, puzzled by her actions.

"Are you alright," he asked, for she had been distant before now. "I didn't upset you did I?"

"No," she replied.

"Was it the Animus?"

"No."

"Shayna? Are you okay?"

"Please just hold me, Desmond. Don't go anywhere… please?"

"Okay," he said, concerned as he gave her a slight squeeze. He could hear tears in her voice and he decided to get comfortable. "I won't move. Do you want me to stay here in bed with you all night too?"

She nodded and shifted to a more comfortable position for them both. Her arm snaked around him and she clung to him as she nuzzled into his chest and sighed. He could feel her shake a little bit with silent sobs and knew he could do nothing but hold her until it passed. He rested his chin on her head and took in her sent in with a deep intake of air and shivered slightly. No, he would not mind being here with her tonight. Lucy or no, this was exactly where he wanted to be right now and he felt oddly comfortable.

It wasn't long before she was asleep in his arms. He couldn't help but feel flattered by this because since she'd arrived, he'd slept in the chair, sitting upright and allowed her to have the bed, knowing full well that she didn't trust him. It wasn't in their upbringing to trust people but now she clearly trusted him. He wiggled free of her and got her under the covers, because they were both shivering. She stirred, calling out his name and he reassured her, kissing her forehead before he too climbed back into bed and took her in his arms again. As he waited for sleep to take him, he couldn't help but wonder about the things he'd seen in the Animus. Things didn't fit into place. He remembered seeing Altair with Maria, falling in love with her and even consummating that fact. Where did that fit in with Sibylla? How did these two women coexist, clearly loving the same man? He was deeply disturbed by something he felt he knew deep inside as he asked himself what happened to Sibylla that allowed room for Maria. A great sadness washed over him and guilt began to plague him, bringing him back to the present. With Shayna here, where did Lucy fit in, if at all?

Sleep didn't come for many hours as he brooded over these things, all the while holding Shayna securely and possessively in his arms. When he did sleep, it was fitful and troubled. He saw things he didn't want to see; images of a girl, (was it Shayna?) leaping from a cliff to meet a watery grave. Visions of death and suffering and things that drove him from sleep, but not from the bed beside Shayna. He wouldn't leave her alone when she had reached for him like she had. Finally, he slept semi-peacefully as the sun began to rise. A few hours was better than nothing, in his opinion and just maybe, Vidic would give them an unplanned break from the Animus today.

* * *

_No notes for this one... nothing historical really. hahah._

_Anyways, sorry this took so long to write and sorry that it's so short. Not much inspiration for it and when I did, I didnt need to write much. It's part filler and part character background. Necessary despite the fact that I didnt want to write it._

_Oh and might I add: part spoiler._

_Spoiler for both AC2 (the MariaxAltair) and Bloodlines a bit (though I've played neither but I DID do my homework). Part of the reason this took so long is because I was thrown off by the games and the pairings. Argh had to work around that._

_The other spoiler is for the story itself, though I wont elaborate. Sorry. Gotta wait till it;s written. I almost cracked and wrote the end of the series as a spoiler for you guys but I figured I'd lose readers and I didnt want to spoil it because every idea I had for one-shots just... have to be in the series itself. -nod-_

_And OBVIOUSLY it takes place post AC2... . DesxLucy introduced here... ugh I hate it._

_okay. it;s done now... back to work -sigh-_


End file.
